


Part of Your World

by glassnoodlegirl



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fairy Tale Curses, M/M, Mermaids, Mystery Fic, Oblivious Simon Snow, POV Agatha Wellbelove, POV Penelope Bunce, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Prepare to Feel, Simon Snow is Gay for Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Slow Burn, Tags Are Hard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, Watford Seventh Year, actually this isn't crack anymore but i still find bits amusing, deep talks deep snogs, kinda a serious crack fic lol, lots of sex references for some reason, simon loves the hairybaz!chest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24890233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassnoodlegirl/pseuds/glassnoodlegirl
Summary: What could be worse than the Merwolves? A Merpire, and that's exactly what Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch wakes up as one morning. Who knew Baz lounging around shirtless in their shared ensuite bathtub with a fin instead of feet would work Simon up so much (in more ways than one), but Simon is determined to get to the bottom of it so he can stop taking cold showers (literally, Baz is a bathroom hog).7th-year Canon Divergent/AU where Simon and Baz establish a different kind of truce, fight off a curse, face a “new” foe, and end up falling madly in love."Hey Siri. Google fish sex." (because the readers really seem to love that line ^_-)
Relationships: Simon Snow/Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 32
Kudos: 97





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello~~ so I've wrote a lot of random scatterings of this fic, and I know the direction I want to take it. I'll try to get a Chapter up at least once a week, more if I can power through, but I work full time so gotta prioritize making them Benjamins. However, I read a lot of Carry On fanfiction and I live for updates, HATE when stories that are absolutely amazing never finished, and after many years away from the fanfic game, I'm a lot better organized. You will see the end of this! 
> 
> In total expect roughly 4-5 chapters. 
> 
> Enjoy~! <3

## Part One 

**_Baz_ **

I’m starting to suspect the World of Mages has a grudge against me. 

When I was five my mother was killed by vampires and I was Turned. At eleven I was introduced to Simon Snow, the boy chosen to both save the world of mages _and_ make my life a living hell. At thirteen the bloodlust manifested and I realized, in addition to lusting for blood, I was also lusting for boys—not that being gay is a punishment, it’s _not_. What is though is having to contend with my homophobic father’s disappointment every time I come back to Hampshire for Christmas break. 

And if that wasn’t enough, at fifteen I realized I’m _very gay,_ specifically, for my arch-nemesis, a certain blue-eyed, freckled-faced, Chosen One, and at sixteen I resigned myself to the fact that he would never _choose_ me, and that I could never _not_ choose him. It was then that the reality of my impending “final battle” with Snow sunk in. That I’m not likely to live past nineteen. Well, technically, I’m already _dead_ , but everyone expects me to really dig in and fight Snow like I’m trying to take him down. But I already know I won’t. 

And now to add another twist on the melodrama that is my life, I woke up this morning to find myself, eighteen and afflicted with some sort of Mermaid curse...well Merpire curse would be the more accurate terminology (I still have my fangs. I checked).

At first, I woke up feeling parched all over and climbed out of bed well before Snow — he’s usually the first one of us up since he likes to be first in line for the scones at breakfast. I saw him once, lining up outside the door at 6:30 am — breakfast doesn’t start until 7 — he’s the _only_ person who ever lines up for breakfast and the only student at Watford shameless enough to go back for “second helpings” _twice._

But today, I awoke to him laying face down in bed, blankets hanging off his body and crumpling in a pile on the side of his bed. Snow stumbled into our room around one am last night, coming back from one of the “training exercises” the Mage sends him on. He didn’t even bother to switch into his pajamas and just collapsed on his bed, almost instantly falling asleep. He’s been in the same position since then. I worried that he might be dead, but I could still hear the soft thumping of the blood rushing through his veins, which put my heart at ease… well only as much at ease as the sound of blood coursing through the veins of a very tasty snack can be for a vampire. I’d never bite Simon (I’ve never bitten anyone) but I rather think less about it. 

It’s not unprecedented for me to shower before Snow wakes up, but I felt an almost desperate need to feel the water rushing across my skin. At the time I thought I might have spent too long out in the sun the day before—sunny days are few and far between at Watford, but when they do come my skin always feels especially irritated, no matter how much sunblock I put on. 

It wasn’t until I set foot in the shower that I felt what turned out to be “The Change.” I was standing one minute, then suddenly, I felt a wave a dizziness wash over me. I woke up on the floor of the shower with a long scaly tail instead of legs, flippers instead of feet. 

I should be more upset about this, but, with everything I’ve had to endure just to make my way in the world, I’m honestly not surprised at this point. How cursed do you have to be to get saddled with vampirism and turn into a mermaid in the same lifetime? Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was a family curse, something classic like in the fairytales: _firstborn male heir to the most powerful Pitch will_ _sprout a fishtail at eighteen to make up for the fact that said firstborn male heir’s great uncle Lester was a colossal man-whore who shagged and spurned the wrong Siren on holiday._ Typical. 

After I came to my senses, I turned off the showerhead and switched to the faucet. I heard Snow get up and bang around, no doubt rushing to the dining hall so he can nab at least five of his precious scones before they’re all gone. After Snow left and the water was nearing the brink of spillage, I turned off the faucet and spelled the tub so the water would stay warm. That was over four hours ago, and since then I’ve had some time to get over the initial shock of my predicament, and am starting to think through the logistics of this whole situation. I spent fifteen years learning to be a half-decent vampire, I’m not looking forward to figuring out how being a merman/pire works. I don’t have the patience for it.

The Mage cut out Magical Creatures courses when I was a second year, and replaced them with Defense Against the Dark Creatures (I honestly think, in addition to _Robin Hood_ , he read _Harry Potter_ one too many times). So far all we’ve learned for the past five years is how to kill dark things like vampires, werewolves, and goblins. It’s no wonder Snow would cut me down at a moment's notice if he could ever find definitive proof of what I am. Merpeople aren’t dark, so we never covered them, and Sirens are a gray area...mostly harmless unless they catch you catcalling them, then they’re merciless. 

How am I going to get blood, and eat, and stay in the water, and go to lessons—well I won’t be going to lessons anytime soon will I? I can’t walk, and I certainly can’t swim there. For all the non-dark magical creatures the Mage has let into Watford, there has yet to be a single Merperson in their ranks. 

Plus, what am I going to do when Snow gets back? It’s humiliating enough as it is, but having to sit back and wait for Snow, beacon of light and all that is good in this world, to discover me and then go running to the Mage while I lounge about in this tub like a chump. Snow has been announcing to anyone who will listen that I’m a vampire for the last four years. Now that I’m basically incapable of dodging his accusations, my days are rather numbered.

I’d lose my wand, _and my fangs_ , and likely the Mage will have me sent off to some secret lab in Sussex for experimentation. 

I’m trying not to panic. I’d summon a bird to ring Fiona, but the ensuite is nowhere near the bedroom window that hangs between mine and Snow’s beds. I don’t have enough magic to summon a bird that I can’t even see. 

It occurs to me, as well, and I know it’s not the most pressing matter… but I’m also going to die a virgin. I’m fairly certain Mermaids can’t have sex, at least not in any way I’d _want_ to, and there’s only one person I’ve ever wanted to shag, and that person is going to feed me to the fishes (no pun intended) as soon as he finds out what happened to me.

How exactly do fishes have sex anyway? I’d google that but the blasted Mage banned phones at Watford (well if I really had a phone I’d ring Fiona, but as it stands, it’s bugging me now that I don’t know the answer, and I rather not die before I find out. Imagine me coming back as a visitor with two burning questions on my mind: one; “Is Simon Snow still alive and does he know I’m still hopelessly, and eternally, in love with him?” and two; "Can you please tell me how fishes have sex?”). 

If I had a future to look forward to, maybe I’d make my eighth year spell a **Hey Siri,** though it’s likely someone else has already worked it out. Besides, it’s not original enough. I’m a Pitch and the top of my class at that, my family would never let me live it down if **Hey Siri** was the best spellwork I could come up with. 

Well, they’re never going to let me live the mermaid thing down either. 

I really must be in a hysteria, since I venture to test my theory. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten, or really moved, or had a “drink.” I feel both restless and on edge. 

I grab my wand from it’s resting place against the ivory tub, and say with magic, “ **Hey Siri: google fish sex.”**

I feel my magic swirl in the air and wait to hear something that signals it has worked, perhaps the familiar feminine robotic “Okay. _Here’s what I found on the web for fish sex”..._

But all I hear is a loud thumping sound on the other side of the door. I roll my eyes. 

It was only a matter of time before Simon Snow stuck his nose into my business. 

**_Simon_ **

I knew Baz was up to something. Plotting. When I woke up his bed was unmade and he was already in the loo.

I heard the bathwater running— he never takes a bath in the morning if he can help it. He spends at tops an hour in the ensuite, twenty minutes showering and the other forty slicking his hair back into the vampire mafioso aesthetic he seems to love so much. I only think he manages to finish in one hour because he uses magic to speed up the rest of his skincare routine — apparently, it requires _ten_ products— regardless he always leaves the bath in a misty perfumed haze reminiscence of the woods and earl grey tea, his skin glowing and jet black hair spelled dry and stiff as a bone. Honestly, that’s likely why he seems to only have two friends. He looks like an _expensive_ Disney villain (like Jafar if his skin was gray). People like that are untouchable. 

But, I always find a way, that is, to touch him. Well not physically, unless we’re fighting. That’s not what I mean. Like to make him _see_ me and _react_ to _me_. 

But today, he never came down to _see_ anything. I went to breakfast, waiting for him to march through the doors, find my eyes across the dining hall and sneer. But he didn’t. Usually, he waltzes on over to the serving tables and grabs himself a tray, before shooting me a glance. I honestly don’t know why he bothers to come to breakfast — he never eats enough to warrant the trip if you ask me, just his customary slice of wheat toast, which he _never_ finishes, and a cup of coffee drenched in cream with ten sugars. (Can Vampires get diabetes? I file that away for further research). 

Penny sits in front of me, sipping a cup of tea and drumming a pen against a purple notebook with a golden sheen. Lately, she’s been obsessing over what her eighth-year spell is going to be. Seventh years don’t normally start worrying about their eighth-year spell until well...eighth-year, but Penny has been thinking about it since she started at Watford. She has a whole host of ideas jotted down in that notebook of hers (it’s spelled to never run out of paper, and it never gets bigger than a few inches). Her ideas have evolved or been tossed out over the years, and this morning she’s been sharing a few of the newer options under consideration with me. 

“I’m thinking of doing something from pop culture—it’s one thing to revive a dead spell, but another to try and predict a phrase that’s going to become iconic. There’s this new Korean band, up and coming, some people have been comparing them to the Beatles—but I’m not sure what use I could get out of **_I purple you_** **.** Love spell maybe? But Merlin, aren’t there enough of those? Self-love spell then? To boost someone’s confidence and show them they’re cared for? I know you might think different Simon, but it really _is_ appalling that the Mage dropped the linguistics program. Just imagine me being able to cast in English, Spanish, _and Korean._ The band looks like it’s going to be a global sensation so something they’re saying has got to be good in at least a dozen language environments. _Simon — Simon are you listening?_ ” 

“What, sorry?” I say, startling and snapping my attention back to Penny. I kept eyeing Nial and Dev’s table, for Baz, only he still hasn't shown up. 

“S _imon_ I was talking about my eighth-year spell.” Penny looks down her glasses at me. She doesn’t bother trying to re-explain, the Bunces are all like that, Penny loves me, and I love her (not like that), but I’ll never be her intellectual equal, so half the time she shares her ideas with me she isn’t really looking for feedback, just a sounding board to bounce them off of. Penny loves to talk about the theory of magic, whereas I just love the idea of it, being around it, and seeing it in action. Even small, everyday spells for heating kettles and polishing shoes feel as grandiose to me as spells that cast a room in rainbows or create a bubble overhead to shield me from the rain. Penny blinks, “What are _you_ going to do for your eighth-year spell, and please don’t make it _Baz_ related.”

“Penny,” I say, “There has to be a use for “ **_I know what you are - say it”_ **

Penny sighs, “I should have never let you and Agatha watch _Twilight_. It’s enabling your obsession. Besides, that movie is complete tosh, and completely creepy — Edward Cullen is basically a stalker. I know you probably see Baz as the Edward in this situation, but honestly Simon you’re closer to Edward with the way you followed him around all of fifth-year.” 

“I was only doing that because he’s clearly a _vampire_ , Penny, and _clearly_ I am the only one who still thinks it’s worth investigating,” I huff. “Besides, I’m not _obsessed_ .” I resist the urge to let my eyes flick over to Baz’s table. I can tell he’s still not arrived anyways. “In my defense, I’m _educating_ myself — you know how little reliable vampire literature we have at Watford. At least one of these twit-y vampire movies has to have gotten some of it right. Baz does seem to sparkle in the morning…” (Though that could just be due to the brightening sheet masks I’ve seen him discard in the trash), “...and sunlight doesn’t really seem to affect him. Stephanie Myers was right about that at least.”

Penny sighs and replies, “Well he’s not here _now_ , so no use fixating on him until he arrives — at least.” It looks like it pains her to even concede that much. She sighs again, “He’ll show up and you can both glare at each other and snarl and bark for a bit, then get back to listening to my list of potential eighth-year spells, yeah? Now, where was I? I’m also considering some spells in the memes category…but there are so many and so fandom specific it’s hard to tell which are going to stick...Sponge Bob seems to have become particularly timeless, which is a goldmine for time spells, especially considering how most of the phrases I’m considering have to do with time anyways.”

I try to listen to Penny, really I do, but as the clock ticks on and the breakfast hall reaches peak attendance, then pitters out to just me and Penny and a few other tables of stragglers, I can’t help glancing off towards where I think Baz will be, expecting him to sashay his way through the door at any minute. 

He never shows up. 

—- 

When I get to our first shared class of the day (this year we share every lesson, it’s torture), Baz isn’t there either. Ms. Thatcher, who teaches political science, called his name and looked surprised when he didn’t answer. 

Baz is just as diligent as Penny when it comes to his lessons. He’s never missed a class in all seven years that I’ve taken classes with him at Watford. Penny says she’d rather face a whole swarm of flying monkeys sent by the Humdrum than get behind on her lessons. She quite literally has had to miss class to face flying monkeys (she was helping me, I accidentally **I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore** -d myself and Penny to Oz in third year —another strange thing about Magic, Oz is real, but Wonderland doesn't exist). Unless it’s a life or death situation, Penny will come to class even if she’s sick as a dog. She has Premel help her spell a protective barrier around herself—and only because being sick makes her magic weaker. This way she can keep all her coughing and sneezing contained until she is no longer contagious. She then spells her voice so it’s less muffled and amplifies it through the barrier so she can answer discussion questions and debate our peers into submission, even when she’s having a violent coughing fit. It’s rather intimidating, and cool as fuck.

Sadly, there’s no spell to cure the common cold — Penny thinks the reason is because Normals keep saying “ **There’s no cure for the common cold.** ” 

But Baz is never sick. And he’s never missed a class, and he never has to because he, unlike Penny, is not my dread companion.

At tea, I excuse myself early after grabbing a few scones and tell Penny I’m going back to my room to study and take a nap. Penny always perks up when she hears I’m going to study. It’s like she thinks that the answer to all my problems would just be solved if I spent a little less time fixating on Baz, and a little more time fixating on my spellwork (and I don’t _fixate on Baz,_ it’s common sense to keep tabs on your vampire roommate so he doesn’t suck you dry in the middle of the night — sure the Anathema would kick him out of Watford, but _I_ wouldn’t be alive to see it happen, now would I?). Penny thinks studying things is the answer to everything. _You can’t solve problems without thinking them through Simon._ She says.

When I get back to my room, I tiptoe up the stairs and gingerly crack the door open and sneak inside. The bathroom door is still closed and there's a soft splashing sound coming from the ensuite—the kind that sounds like treading water. Is he _still_ bathing? Baz would never let his skin prune up like a raisin. I furrow my brow. _What is he plotting?_ Don’t tell me he’s trapped a merwolf in there and is going to set it loose on me when I go in. That’s low. Even for him. I freeze in place and listen for the telltale sound of gargled snarling that signifies their presence, but I don’t hear anything other than the soft ebb and flow of water. 

I sneak over to the bathroom and put my ear to the door. The walls aren’t completely soundproof, but I can hear a bit better like this. 

And that’s when I hear it, muffled but clear, “ **Hey Siri Google fish sex.** ” 

Tyrannus Basilton Grim-Pitch is trying to have _sex_ with a _fish_? I trip over my own two feet trying to peek through the keyhole. 

**_Baz_ **

I can’t reach the door so I spell it wide open with an **Open Sesame** and Simon Snow comes tumbling in. It’s better to catch Snow in the act before he starts indulging his flights of fancy about my plotting. I honestly don’t plot even a third as much as he thinks I do. (That is something I do, do that Snow doesn't. _Think_. Maybe Simon would accuse me of plotting less if he could just stop confusing the two). 

I sigh. I really can’t handle another fifth-year right now (that’s something I suppose I will miss, thanks to my transformation. Wanking in the shower to thoughts of Snow), and any other day I’d string him along for a bit, just to see his brow get all furrowed and his eyes narrow into suspicious little slits. He’s rather _adorable_ like that. But, since I’m likely marooned in this bathtub for the foreseeable future, I’ve resigned myself to my fate and figure I might as well try being honest for once. See where it gets me. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” Snow shouts as he lifts himself up from the floor, “I swear Baz if you’re trying to….” he trails off as his eyes land on me and he sees me, really _sees_ me. His eyes widen and his mouth hangs open a tad wider than it usually does.

“Holy shit....” I forgot he curses like a Normal when he’s at his wit's end. 

“Go on Snow — have your fill,” I say, attempting to sound both menacing and nonchalant, “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

“My god Baz… what happened.” 

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I woke up like this.”

Snow eyes me with a mix of apprehension and awe, his eyes running over my tail, and up my body. I try not to fidget under his gaze. I’m basically naked from the waist up. I took off my clothes to shower, obviously, and didn’t bother putting them back on after the change. What would be the point? 

There are only a few things I’m self-conscious about when it comes to my body - my fangs and my chest hair. I have a lot of chest hair. It comes from my mother's side of the family. It’s right luck it was vampires who attacked the nursery when I was a boy and not werewolves. Can you imagine what the body hair situation would be like right before the full moon? Crowley.

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at Snow whose eyes are still roaming from my tail to my chest and back again. When his eyes meet mine, he seems to remember himself and scowls at me. 

“This isn’t some plot is it?” He asks, suspicion clouding his gaze. 

I roll my eyes, now at _my_ wit's end. “If this is a plot _Snow_ ,” I spit his name. “I bloody well didn’t plan it very well, did I? Why in Merlin's name would I do this to myself just to mess with you? I’m trapped in this bathroom like an invalid, completely defenseless. Why on earth would I wait for my halfwit roommate to show up so he can find me wasting away _,_ and report me to the Mage who will surely lock me in a scientific torture dungeon once he finds out I’m a bloody fucking vampire. It’s a lot easier to hide fangs than it is a tail, but I can’t hide anything if I can’t bloody well move.” I think I really must actually be hysterical, or otherwise stir-crazy, now because I didn’t plan on saying any of that. 

Snow looks at me now, shocked into place, and after my outburst, I’m embarrassed and feel myself flushing. I haven’t had blood in over twelve hours so I’m sure Snow can’t tell. “Baz…” He says like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “When did you last, well… you know?” 

“When did I last _what_ Snow?” I snap at him. 

“I dunno eat...you look a little paler than usual. Do you need food or...something else?” 

“I don’t need food right now, I…” Snow is gone before I can finish my sentence, and he returns in seconds with a lightly crumbled scone he has wrapped in a napkin. He holds it out to me and looks at me like it’s a challenge. 

I’ve never been one to back down, especially when it’s Snow who initiates the challenge, so I lift my hand out from the water, spell it dry and take the scone from his hand. 

I won’t eat it in front of him, though. I have to draw the line somewhere. 

“I’ll be back.” He says suddenly, and he turns on his heels, crashing out the door like the Kool-Aid man. My heart is beating with adrenaline and fear. Why would he say it like that if he was going to go get the Mage? So...friendly? He’s caught me with my hand in the cookie jar, and I let him catch me. 

I look at the scone in my hand. Not what I would have picked for my last meal. 

But it will do. 

**_Simon_ **

When I come back to my room from the catacombs I have a box full of squirming rats in my arms. I missed my last three lessons of the day sniffing them out (not literally, I’m not Baz). Once I found them, catching them turned out to be one of the most difficult feats of my life, and I’ve slain a dragon. But I couldn’t just go off on a bunch of rats… that would have been overkill, even for me. 

I don’t know why I did it. Baz just looked...vulnerable. Like he was at the end of his rope. And exhausted. He’s absolutely insufferable when he’s hangry. I know that for me when I’m feeling a bit knackered and beatdown, I can still burn for hours before crashing. Penny says it’s the adrenaline. Baz says it’s my magic. 

And Baz, I could tell, was one wrong comment away from a complete meltdown. 

When I finally head into the bathroom, Baz is still looking dejected, a sad mess in the tub, and the scone is gone. I see the empty napkin I gave to him in the trash. _So he was hungry_. The stubborn git. 

“Here,” I say as I enter the room, setting the box on the floor next to the tub. He looks back at me like I’ve gone off and grown a pair of fins myself, “I’ll leave you alone.” I say as I leave and close the door behind me. 

And that’s how it starts. 

The next day, I wake up late again and make a beeline for the dining hall. Missing Baz entirely. I tell Baz’s teachers he’s come down with a nasty cold and is up in our room resting. When they pester me about bringing him to see the nurse, I just say “There’s no cure for the common cold.” 

They don’t argue about that. 

At afternoon tea, I grab a few extra scones for Baz and tell Penny I’m going to study again. “Don’t sleep through your last three classes again,” She calls after me, “Honestly Simon, you do want to make it to eighth-year don’t you? 

This time I use crumbs from one of the scones to lure out the rats. It’s still a pain to trap them all, but I get about five fat ones to bring to Baz. 

Just like the night before, I take the box of rats to Baz and leave it on the floor of the ensuite without a word. 

He doesn't even _thank me_ for my trouble, the impossible git. 

The next day, when I finally wake up at my usual time and stumble towards the bathroom, my bladder ready to burst. I find that Baz has spelled the bathtub big so he can swim around a bit. It ends up taking up the entire floor space of the ensuite, and he won’t let me come in to brush my teeth, take a piss, or even just _look_ at him (I won’t tell him this, but there’s something slightly mesmerizing watching him glide through the water, his normally stiff hair fans out and floats and I have a strange urge I chalk up to my fascination with magical creatures to _play_ with it). His skin now has a slight shimmer to it, and it makes the light reflected in the black of his chest hairs stand out like the night sky sprinkled with white stars— and I think _Twilight_ got it right before I start to wonder if maybe the shimmer actually has more to do with his being part fish now than it does with his vampirism (again filed away for further research). Baz was fit before he was transformed, but his tail is varying hues of sea green that brings out the deep gray-blues of his eyes, and when he floats the light catches it just right and it almost glows like those flowers you find by the river in _Skyrim_. I’ve caught myself gawking at him on more than one occasion.

“Close your mouth Snow, you’ll catch flies.” he always says. 

I get dressed in a whirlwind and head down to the public toilets to pee. When I get to breakfast, Penny looks down her glasses at me and says point-blank, “Simon, don’t take this the wrong way, but when was the last time you took a shower? You smell like Goblin's breath.” 

I won’t dignify that with a response and just shrug. She wrinkles her nose but doesn’t push further. I hear her cast, “ **A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”** on me as we’re leaving the dining hall. 

After about a week of this, it’s becoming a right pain trying to leave in the morning. I have to use the public showers and toilets on the floor beneath us, and it’s crowded. I’ve been late for breakfast every day this week and have missed the scones entirely at least twice. (Penny didn’t even bother to save me some). Plus in the evenings, on top of having to leave dinner early with an extra sandwich and apple stored in my knapsack, I spend about forty-five minutes or more in the woods hunting for squirrels and rabbits to sneak back to our room to feed Baz — I gave up on the catacombs, I can’t see anything and if I cast a “ **Let** **there be light.** ” It ends up being so bright I still can’t see anything, and the rats go into hiding.

On top of that, Baz is a picky eater. He complains if I kill the animals beforehand, something about the blood not tasting fresh, so I’ve been having to continue to usher them into a box and pray they don’t kill each other before I can bring them back to our room. Since it takes so bloody long to do all this, I always get to the showers after all the hot water has been used. Watford administration could spell the water so it’s warm for us always, but it’s part of our training to be able to spell it warm ourselves. If I spell the water hot it’s usually somewhere between near-boiling and scalding which makes showering basically impossible, especially since I already run hot. So I’m reduced to taking a cold shower (not like that). Even though my skin is always too hot, it doesn’t mean I enjoy bathing in ice cubes (I don’t). 

This evening, I’m laying in bed while Baz splashes around in the bath. He closes the door when he’s feeding — doesn’t want me to watch, and then keeps it closed after. I’m going to need to talk to him about moving into the moat or the gymnasium pool at least. There’s actually a pond in the wavering wood I think he might like. Whatever we decide, the current arrangement is not sustainable. 

“Um...Baz” I say, approaching the door “Can I come in.”

“You may not.” He replies from behind the door. 

“I’m coming in anyway,” I say. 

When I open the door, he’s still shirtless, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing him like this. The edges of the tub block the entranceway so I have to climb over it to see him more clearly. There’s very soft steam coming off from the water. I pull off my trousers so I’m down to my pants, and sink my bare feet into the tub without thinking, the water comes up to my knees, and it’s a little too warm for my taste, but Baz seems fine with it. I look over at him and he’s looking at me like I’ve just farted in front of the Queen — a mix of disbelief and horror — I jut my chin out and lean forward. 

“Baz — we need to talk.”

**_Baz_ **

Simon Snow has just done the equivalent of stripping in front of me and getting into my bed. It’s not like the ensuite is very big, but it’s my only safe-haven in this room. Before when I was just in the tub, my tail was barely submerged. After I spelled it bigger — and that’s about all I’m good for spell wise now, it takes a lot of magic to maintain the size of my new home— I now have enough space to stretch out and float in a small circle. It’s still not very big, so my flippers are just a hair's breadth away from touching Snow. I accidentally fan a bit of water towards him and it spills over the sides, soaking the back end of his pants and making them cling deliciously to his thighs and his...well. I try not to stare, but I feel myself blushing from head to fin. Curse you, Snow. I’m thinking of all the things I’d want him to do with me with that...uh... equipment if I hadn’t lost all my bloody holes. 

“Since when do we _talk_ Snow,” I reply, forcing my voice to sound menacing, but it just comes out shrill and tired sounding. _I am_ tired. It’s late and I’ve been magically maintaining a pool every day of the week, and when I’m not doing that, I’m running through all the reason why Snow would be choosing to help me right now. Is it guilt? His noble heart? He's desperately attracted to me and wants to shag? The possibilities become more farfetched the longer I’m trapped in here. 

“Since I’ve basically become your errand boy, “ He replies, then whines, “ _Come on Baz_. I’m clearly the only one who knows about the tail, and the fangs. I think we need to get past some of this stuff between us...”

“You only _know_ about either of those two things, because you can’t keep from meddling in _everyone else's_ business.” I snap. “I’d be just fine without you.”

“Really Baz? Were you going to spell a few birds to the room and start magically germinating an apple tree? You also seem to have expanded the tub which I know has got to be draining your magic fast. You’re powerful, but everyone has their limits. Plus you’ve hardly been eating like a normal human being — you need energy to do magic.”

“Well I’m not human Snow,” I huff out at him before I can stop myself, and I must sound pained because his eyes soften for a second before lighting back up again with the fire that draws me to him. 

“You _are_ too.” He says, “And that’s why I’m proposing we move you somewhere more comfortable. You can’t honestly say you enjoy being trapped in here with me. Don’t you miss Dev and Nial? Don’t you want to see something other than the bathroom wall and your reflection... I mean if you can even see that.” I narrow my eyes at him and he sighs, lifting his hands up in mock surrender. He runs his hands through his curls, frizzing them out so they stick up in unruly sprouts, “Look...what I mean is….I... I know there's a, well, a _flower field_ in the wavering woods you like to frequent, and there’s a pond nearby, I spotted it a few nights ago when I was looking for your… your dinner. It’s rather big. Well compared to this. Shall I move you there? I’m sure there’s fish in it, and rabbits tend to come near the pond to drink— you can... _hunt_ without having to wait for me. Look what I’m saying is at least you’ll be a lot less cooped up until we can figure out what’s wrong with you. What do you say?”

I say nothing. I’m still reeling from the fact that Simon Snow seems to know I have an affinity for flowers. I love being able to breathe life into them when they wilt. It makes me feel like I’ve got it — life that is — like even though I have to eat life to live, I’ve got enough of it to pass some of it on. 

I take in a breath and look up at the ceiling, willing myself not to cry. It’s all been a bit much, hasn’t it? Being waited on hand and… fin by the love of my life. Not knowing why any of this is happening, and why _he_ of all people is helping _me_ . Having to come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be able to leave water for very long again. Can you imagine what it’d be like to find others like myself? I could never get too close to them. Half fish, half vampire, _and_ a mage. Sirens love to drown mages. And I’m pretty sure vampires are the most hated species in the magical community (next to Goblins — who steal Babies — and Brownies — who sneak into your house and steal your things). It’s only the Normals who can’t seem to get enough of us. 

“Baz,” Simon says, sinking further into the water. He’s now waist-deep in and threading towards me, I can feel the heat from his body against my tail. The ape doesn’t even seem to care that he’s completely soaked his pants and half of his shirt. I stare at his chest as it starts to cling against his pecks. “Baz….it’s going to be alright. Look… if we move you to the pond, it’ll free up a lot of my time, _and_ I can get Penny involved. You and Penny are two of the brightest mages I know. If anyone can make heads and tales of this situation it’ll be the both of you...but as it is, I can’t do my lessens, bring you meals, _hunt_ for you, _and_ figure out why the bleeding hell you’ve grown a fin.” I look down at the water because I can’t look at his face. There’s too much concern, and we don’t have experience doing this — being soft, being kind to each other. So I fiddle with my thumbs in the water and wrap my arms around myself. I’m not cold but I feel exposed in front of Snow, in more ways than one. I sneak a glance at him from under my eyelashes and he takes in a breath. 

“Why?” I ask. He looks startled. 

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me, Snow. You could have turned me in by now. I’m...I’m a...you know what I am.” 

“Say it.” He says, with a mischievous smile touching his eyes. 

“Say what?” 

“I know what you are, say it…”

“Are you quoting _Twilight_ at me, Simon?”

“Did you just call me Simon?”

“I did not.”

“Did too.” 

I splash water on him with my fin.

_“Bazzzzz.”_

_“You asked for it.”_

_“I’m helping you.”_ He says, and the sudden shift in tone from uncharacteristic lightheartedness to serious conviction catches me off guard, _“_ Because it’s not your fault. This...what’s happened to you. None of it. I don’t understand it...but...I..I want to help you. I’ve got a feeling that it’s the _right_ thing to do.”

I think he means it, and I don’t think he realizes just how much those words mean to me right now. That it’s not my fault. _None of it._

“Alright,” I say.

Simon smiles at me. _Smiles._ It’s a shy smile, but it’s for me. “Truce?” He asks, sticking out his hand. 

I stare at it for a long time before conceding. Snow doesn’t back down. He’s relentless like that. When I take his hand in mine, I have to remind myself we’re not friends, just at a temporary ceasefire. I swallow and make eye contact with him. I see the flames, and I’m once again drawn to them. Simon Snow will be the death of me. 

I hold his gaze so he knows I mean it: “Truce,” I say. 


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my commentors, readers, and all of you who left kudos~~~ also sorry to anyone who subscribed and got a notification that I updated. I accidentally posted a chapter that had nothing in it and then immediately deleted it because I don't know how to use this website. 
> 
> I hope you're still reading and still enjoying.

# Part Two:

**_Simon_ **

Getting Baz out of the tub and down the stairs of Mummers without anyone seeing us proves to be more challenging than I could imagine. 

Firstly, I had to steal a wheelbarrow. Well… not steal per se. I just went to Ebb and asked if I could borrow it. “Getting into gardening now, are you Simon?” Ebb asked. “Careful the goats don’t find ya plot.” I grunted my response, hoping she’d interpret it however she wants, before running off over the drawbridge with it. 

Baz was too far away to **up up and away** it from our window. He claimed that he _tried_ to hang his body off the side of the tub and angle his wand so he could point it in the general direction of the window. I don’t think he tried at all. I think he knew it’d be pointless and was just taking the piss so as to _piss me off_. Insufferable git. 

So I tried “ **up up and away** ”-ing it and it went up alright… and kept going. I had to go back to Ebb for another wheelbarrow. I told her I’d accidentally turned the first one over into the moat. She didn’t ask me why I couldn’t just spell it out. I’ve seen Ebb do amazing things with magic—call the goats in all at once, warm the tea, and spell the brooms so that they sweep the dirt under the mat—but she never makes you feel like a complete numpty if you don’t use it to solve all your problems—that’s one of the reasons I like her so much. Besides, using my magic just ends up creating more problems anyways. So I don’t. Use it that is. Well if I can help it. 

So this time I decided to do things the Normal way and just rolled it up the accessibility ramps in Mummers (no lifts, Mage says it's good for endurance. Plus the buildings too old). For anyone who shot me a curious look I just explained I was taking it up to wheel out my “gardening tools” (figured I might as well lean into the whole gardening thing, good cover for why I’ll probably be spending the next Merlin knows how long stalking in and out of the Wavering Wood).

When I get the wheelbarrow into our room, it's almost a half-hour into dinner, and Baz is hanging off the side of the tub looking at me. The tips of his hairs are soaking wet where it hits his neck, but otherwise, it’s damp and free-flowing in his face. I suddenly feel awkward, so self-consciously run a hand through my curls and busy myself with brushing the mud I tracked up with the wheelbarrow into a corner with my foot. I think my ears are turning red and I’m thankful I’ve been growing my hair out enough to hide the tips. The last thing I want is another reason for Baz to mock me. 

Well...he hasn’t really been mocking me. Not since this whole thing started. Sure he’s been snarky, and opinionated, and short-tempered. But he hasn’t been downright cruel. 

When I think on it he really hasn’t been cruel since...well, since that day Philippa’s voice ran out. 

I look up at him again, and Baz really must be nearing his last leg because he barely even reacts to the mud thing. He wrinkles his nose up in disgust but otherwise doesn’t say anything. Just picks up his wand and points it towards the wheelbarrow. 

Baz spells it full with a “ **glass half full,”** and then spells it so it won’t spill out with a ** _“_ stay put. _”_** He also casts **“c** **lean as a whistle”** at least four times over the damn thing. You’d think it was diseased or something. 

“Alright Snow,” He says, staring up at me from the tub. There are dark circles under his eyes, which are now the color of a rain-soaked chinchilla. He looks a bit like a corpse—a _sparkly_ corpse, but a corpse all the same. I think all the casting is starting to take its toll on him. Besides, I’m sure he’s been magicking all the animal corpses away. The water in the tub is impeccable, not even a single drop of blood tainting it pink. “Now just to get me in,” He sounds out of breath even though he hasn’t been moving. “Roll it here.” 

Baz then hoists his torso out of the bath, water droplets clinging to his skin like little glistening pearls. 

That’s about all he does. His arms give out and he sinks back into the tub, resting his chin against the tile, and closing his eyes. 

“I - I could carry you.” I stammer. I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous. 

“You will not.” Baz snaps, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s gone and buried his head in his arms, resting against the side of the tub. I walk so that I’m standing at the edge of the tile and nudge him gently with my leg. 

“Baz.” I say, my voice coming out more gentle than I intended. “Come on, it's the only way.”

“It really isn’t” He replies, “I just need a minute or two, and then I’ll be fine.”

“Really? So a couple of minutes can turn into an hour? Baz, you’re clearly spent. _No_ . We need to do this _now_ , or you’re not going to get anywhere. Come on, it’s only been about thirty minutes since dinner started, you know we’ve only got about fifteen left before people start walking back to the dorms.” 

Baz looks up at me from the water, and sucks in a breath he lets out through his nose in an exasperated growl. “Fine.” He bites, “But not a word about this to anyone.” 

I roll my eyes. “The last thing I want anyone to know is that I’m helping _you_ of all people.”

“Feeling’s mutually Snow.” He sneers, “Now on with it.”

I don’t exactly know where to begin with this. I look at Baz and he’s frowning. If I pull him up by his arms his tail is just going to drag all over the floor, water and all. Plus I’ll probably knock over the wheelbarrow before I can even get him sitting upright in it. It’s not like the water is going to spill out, but Baz didn’t spell the wheelbarrow to stay upright and I have a tendency to smash through things when I should really gently tap them. Besides, Baz is exhausted right now and I can’t guarantee his spells are landing in the same way they usually are. His stay put is usually good for at least a full day when he’s in tip-top shape, but now he’s running on empty.

I grimace. There’s really only one option. And he’s not going to be happy about it...

“Turn around,” I say. 

Baz does, only now his flippers are peeking out over the edge of the tub instead of his face. “No not like that. Turn so you’re—I dunno, _sideways_.” 

“You said turn around Snow,” He retorts, redirecting his body so that he’s parallel with the door, tail hidden behind the wall, and torso peaking out nearest the doorway, “It’s not my fault your ability to give simple directions is—”

I scoop him into my arms, bridal style, and he yelps. He instinctively reaches out and wraps his arms around my neck, then just as quickly recoils, hissing as if he’s just put his hand on a hot burner. He’s still got his hands on either side of my shoulder, only he’s holding himself back from me like I’m made of kryptonite. 

_Oh._

My cross. 

“Sorry.” I say, feeling a bit frantic as I carry Baz in my arms, “Should I take it off?” 

“No… it’s… my fault.” His voice is soft, strained, “I’ll try and be more careful.”

“Can you feel it through my clothes?” I ask.

“Yes.” Baz says, avoiding my eyes. “It’s not as strong but…” 

“Hold on then.” 

Before he can argue, I slowly lower Baz back into the tub. The entire front of my Watford ensemble is damp when I pull away. I reach behind my neck and unfasten the clamps, then I take the cross off and throw it onto my bed. I look down at Baz and he’s gaping at me, quite literally like a fish out of water (and he calls _me_ the mouth breather). 

“Ready?” I ask. 

Baz swallows, and it’s even more obvious than it would be normally because he’s nude (in the way it matters) from the chest up. I find myself staring at his neck when I suddenly remember that Penny likened me to one Edward Cullen, which I decidedly am not. Baz is the one who likes to suck on necks for kicks, not me. 

Well I’ve never tried to...give someone a hickey that is. Agatha and I don’t...do _that_ . Well she’s never indicated that she’s _wanted_ me to do that. But we would, I mean, if she’d _ask_ me to. 

_I bet she’d want Baz to suck on her neck_. A nasty little voice says in the back of my head. _I bet he’d be just fucking perfect at it, considering all his experience._ I’ve been trying not to think about Baz being after my girlfriend in all this. Penny says Baz is the Spike to my Angel — the bad boy “vampire (unconfirmed Simon)”, _a fantasy_ , and if Agatha’s even a little bit tempted, which she _isn’t_ , it’s _only_ because she likes the danger of it, the rebellion. 

_"But there’s plenty of danger in MY life Penny."_ I’d said in response.

Penny sighed _, "Yes Simon_ , _but you're also safe. You’re honest. You say and do what you mean. Baz has an air of mystery and aloofness to him that makes someone like Agatha I don’t know... want to figure him out. Agatha’s not going to leave you for him, she’s just...going through a phase. You really should just talk to her. All you do is blow up at Baz. It’s not helping.”_  
  
I don't think Penny is team Spike—she would never betray me like that—but she doesn’t come off like she’s team Angel really either.

I look down at Baz then and a part of me wants to wring his neck and demand that he leave my girlfriend alone as part of this truce. But then I remember I took my cross off and I’d be as good as dead if I tried anything. Baz may be weaker right now, but he’s also been through a lot over the last week. And if my life as the Chosen One has taught me anything, it’s that when your enemies are backed into a corner, they’ll do anything to survive.

I reach down into the tub again, and Baz once again snakes his arms around my neck and I have half a mind to shake him off out of spite (what does he think, I’ll drop him?). It’s probably not the safest thing to piss off a vampire this close to my neck, so I settle the fluttering feeling in my stomach I pin as rage and just carry on... Only this time I take a deep breath to calm my nerves as I lift him up, inhaling the sweet but faint smell of oranges and, well…what Baz smells like when he’s not drenched in products: musky and woodsy undercut by something that quite honestly smells like sushi. He must be adding essential oils to the water to get that orange scent (narcissistic git), and the sushi smell is probably from the tail (or I’m just really hungry). The wetness from Baz’s skins seeps into my clothes again and I wonder if I’ll smell like him for the rest of the evening—I wouldn’t mind really. I like oranges. 

I wonder if Agatha would like me better if I smelled like _him_. 

For a moment or two I’m just standing there, Baz in my arms, his hands around my neck, lost in my thoughts about food, my girlfriend, and how my life got to this point when he clears his throat and I snap out of my reverie. 

“Snow - what are you doing? I thought time was of the essence, or do you _like_ holding me in your arms?” 

“Quit your complaining,” I spit back, feeling a blush rise up my cheeks at his suggestion that I’m enjoying this (I’m not, in case it wasn’t clear). “And tilt your upper body towards me. I need to angle you so I can get your tail out the door.” 

Despite the three inches Baz has on me, well maybe more now thanks to the flippers, he feels small in my arms, and lighter than I imagined. The tail alone I thought would weigh at least 20 stones. He buries his head against my throat and for a split second I think he could bite me if he really wanted. But he doesn’t. Just lets out a small cool breath against my neck that tickles. His skin is pleasantly cold where our skin meets, but there’s warmth coming from his mouth, like the way a plate of mashed potatoes that have been sitting out are just a little bit warm when you bring them to your lips. (Merlin I must really be hungry).

“A bit more I say,” and he sinks further into me. He’s flush against my body now and it feels like I’m cradling him to my chest. I maneuver him out the door, trying to be careful not to bang his tail into anything. _Trying_ being the operative word. Just when I think the coast is clear I swing him around with more force than I intended and he knocks over the lamp on his desk. 

It goes out with a crash that startles him. He lets the beginning of a complaint that immediately falls to silence grace his lips. We both turn our heads to look at each other and it's like he sucked out all of the air in the room.

When the light broke, it cast us out of the harsh fluorescent light and dimmed the room with a soft natural glow from the window. It’s late afternoon and the sun is starting to set, which casts a warm orange glow along the floor between our two beds, but otherwise, the room is coated in shadows, and the soft glow of Baz's tail illuminates the underside of his face. Looking at Baz in this light, is like watching someone soften before your very eyes. He looks completely caught off guard as he stares into my eyes. There isn’t a single furrow in his brow and his arms are still draped around my shoulders. It feels like there’s a question in his eyes, and if I stare into them long enough I’ll know how to answer it. 

Suddenly my stomach rumbles. His eyes break from mine and travel to my lips, and finally to the source of the noise, and he lets out a light chuckle, smirking himself, and I can’t help it and I laugh too, albeit slightly embarrassed. 

“Alright, hurry it up Snow,” He says a little too good-naturedly, “Let’s get me down to the pond before you miss dinner entirely.”

“Right,” I say, as I shake my head and lower him into the wheelbarrow. 

I feel the heat of the room rising as he leaves my arms. 

**_Penny_ **

Simon is a whole hour and fifty minutes late to dinner. He bursts through the doors, just as Cook Pritchard’s crew is putting out second helpings, and makes a frenzied beeline for the buffet. 

He’s got patches of water-soaked stains across his body, including one that looks like a handprint across his back. He’s got mud and leaves caked to his boots and the front of his hair is a bouquet of limp matted curls, dripping water all over the floor as he shovels rolls and mounds of butter onto his tray. 

“What happened to you Snow—fall in the moat?” One of Baz’s minions snickers out at him. I get up from my seat with my empty tray and slap him upside the head with it. 

Nial—I think is the imbecile's name—rubs the back of his head and winches, he then gets right irritated and opens his mouth to say something. I cut him off as I begin to cast “ **sticks and stones…”**

Nial's eyes go frantic, “W **ords will never hurt me _”_ **he blurts the counter curse. I glare at him.

(I wasn’t _actually_ going to break all Nial’s bones—I just like to remind the boys at school that I _can_. There’s a reason they’re all scared of me. As they should be.)

I walk over to Simon as he makes googly eyes at the spread. There aren’t any scones at dinner, but there’s roast beef, mashed potatoes, blood pudding, beef wellington, sandwiches, and Thai curry (our international dish of the day), as well as an assortment of cakes and fruits — all of Simon’s favorites (well that’s not saying much since all food seems to be on Simon’s favorites list), so I help him take a second tray's worth of food back to our table along with a fresh pot of tea for myself (I’m planning an all-nighter so I can finish my tarot reading assignment a whole week early for my advanced seminar on Reading the Fates. No one who cares anything about divination bothers reading the fates the day before an assignment is due. The whole point is to predict the future so you can do a better job.). 

**“** Where have you been? **”** I ask when we’re finally settled and Simon is shoveling potatoes and meat into his mouth like they’re going out of style. I take a sip of my tea and stare him down over my cup. 

Simon makes a popping sound with his mouth as he sucks off a giant helping of potatoes from his spoon. He then guzzles half a glass of milk before allowing himself to speak. 

“Well, see about that Penny… I’m, well,” he lowers his voice and leans into me across the table. “ _I’ve been helping Baz with something._ ”

I narrow my eyes at him. “ _Helping Baz with something,”_ I repeat. “Are you sure he really didn’t just push you into the moat?” 

Simon runs a hand through his water-soaked hair, flinging droplets all over the place. He sighs and looks around like he’s paranoid—I mean he usually is at least slightly restless until Baz shows up for meals. It’s like he can’t relax until he knows where he is. I used to think it was because Baz had been cruel to Simon throughout their first three years at Watford. Playing practical jokes on him, so Simon’s paranoia was just a natural extension of that, some form of PTSD. But Simon always gave as good as he got, challenging Baz to duels, physically fighting him in the halls, and even stalking him around all of fifth-year to prove that he was a vampire. But then… one day, it all just sort of stopped. Most of their squabbles now are closer to the equivalent of two kindergarteners fighting over the same crayon on the playground at break. 

It’s not that Baz and Simon have been friendlier to each other, they haven’t. They still sneer and hiss and taunt each other from across the room, but there’s less malice in it. It’s more like a routine they don’t know how to break out of. The one thing that hasn’t changed is how they’re both completely obsessed with each other. Simon will tell you it’s because of the final battle, it’s getting closer and after next year it’ll really be final for one of them… or both of them. I shudder at the thought. 

I’ve tried to talk Simon out of it. The Pitches and their politics, well most of the old family policies, are too conservative and elitist, unsustainable in our current magick-political environment in my opinion. But, it’s just _politics_. Why does the Mage have to basically Ender's Game Simon into his ideological war? He’s basically already won, and some of his reforms haven’t been for the better...

Besides, the real threat is much more insidious. 

Simon's eyes scan the dining hall again, and I follow them. I don’t see Baz, but Simon doesn’t look ill at ease. He doesn’t look like he’s searching for him either. In fact, he hasn't talked about Baz at all this week. Except to mention that he was sick during Political Science (the only class, Baz, me, and Simon all share this term) (Besides, I thought _vampire_ s can't get sick. " _I dunno_ ," Simon had mumbled. " _Maybe it's a magical virus._ ")

Interesting. 

“Where is Baz?” I say. “You said you were helping him with something.”

“Right look Penny—it’s a bit complicated but can we talk about it in my room a bit after meals?”

“At least tell me where you’ve been—you look a right mess.”

“I was in the Wavering Wood,” he whispers, “ _Helping someone._ ” He adds with a look. 

I don’t press him, just because whatever he wants to tell me seems to be sensitive—I know it’s about Baz for one, and it might have something to do with him being a vampire, I hope it's not that he's gone off and drowned him somewhere in the wood. Simon may...I dunno' "hate" Baz, but he's not a murderer. I relent for now, but Simon is going to have a whole world of explaining to do once we’re inside his dorm. 

I hear him mutter under his breath as he slurps up curry, “ _Sushi would of been nice today_.”

**_Baz_ **

Simon ran me down the accessibility ramp at Mummer’s like he was being chased by a hoard of bloodthirsty Goblins. I felt like I was going down on a very chaotic rollercoaster. When he got us out to the courtyard, we transition into a very bumpy ride as he jousted me along the cobblestone. I took my wand out and cast a few meager “ **there’s nothing to see here"** _s around us,_ but I’m pretty sure none of them landed. 

The ride started to smooth out as we made it over the drawbridge, and I felt the tension in my shoulders easing up as we got further away from Watford, and further and further into the unknown (well as unknown as the outskirts of the Watford grounds can be to two people who have spent half their lives here). 

Merlin. It’d only been ...what seven or so days since I’d been cooped up in that tub? I feel my heart lifting as I relish in the beauty of the world outside our ensuite. As a vampire, I can see things better than most, and right now I look back at Watford, my senses heightened as the sunset envelops it up, dark navy blues bleeding into deep purples transforming into a fading orange. 

Simon Snow looks lovely against the backdrop, a golden constellation. I can’t tell if it’s because of the exhaustion, but I let myself lean back in the wheelbarrow and into him. I can hear his heart pumping in his chest as he leans in to push me forward. He smells like salt and butter and cinnamon, a hint of orange, and _Simon_. I inhale a big whiff of him. (If he asks, which I don’t think he will, I’ll just say I’m taking in the fresh air—if the fresh air smelled of baked goods, the kind you can get high off of.)

Simon pushed me through the wavering woods. We both know these woods better than most at Watford. When Elspeth went missing in third-year, the whole school combed every inch of it, sweeping the Wood left and right, but we never found her. I heard the teachers whisper that she’d likely been spirited away, then the whispers turned to rumor and now sometimes a few rambunctious first-years will dare each other to see who can go in the deepest before chickening out. My aunt Fiona thinks the Mage made a deal with the druids to keep students out. Maybe Elspeth’s soul was part of that deal.

Despite all that, only Simon and I have been known to get ourselves lost in the Wood on purpose. I come here to hunt, and since I’m already a dark creature, the sprites don’t bother me—I creep them out. I think, for Simon, because he’s a Normal, exploring Watford was like being in an adventure novel. I’d find him roaming the woods in our first-year like he was solving a mystery (and he _did,_ the fifth hare). Eventually, he went from trying to figure out the secrets of Watford, to trying to figure me out. He’d stalk me to the woods every night in fifth-year when I’d had to feed and the rats in the catacombs we’re getting few and far between (he’d stalk me there too), though I’d always lose him before he could get too close. 

I’d circle back to a clearing in the woods, the one Snow is taking me to now. I’d always thought I was rid of him by the time I’d arrived here. I’d let my guard down a little, casting “ **April showers** ” on the flowers that were wilting in winter and watch them bloom in the snow. 

I guess I was wrong. My Snow did find a way to follow me here. 

When Snow finally pushes me through the branches and we get to the edge of the flower field, he makes a sharp left and pushes me into the trees.

“Aren’t we here?” I ask. Suddenly wondering if this whole thing was a plot for Snow to take me down. We never actually formally sealed the deal for our truce. That is with magic, I mean. 

He could still betray me. 

There was a moment, earlier, when he held me in his arms and looked into my eyes that I thought he might. There was a curiosity in them and I couldn’t look away—like he could see right through me. Whatever question he had in his eyes I wanted to be the answer. I wanted it so bad I almost couldn’t breathe, but I could also see, somewhere deep inside the back of his eyes... _our_ _history._ Whatever answer I provide will never be enough. I only know that I’m sure about him. 

I’ll always be sure. 

And I’ll let him. If I have to. 

Kill me.

If it answers the question. 

_It’s the right thing to do_. 

“No.” Snow says sharply, pulling me from my thoughts. “Not there, it’s too...public. ‘Sides, do you see a pond?”

The sun has completely set and we’re shrouded in darkness. Well, Snow is anyways. “I’m sure I see better than you do right now,” I reply. 

“Oh hush.” 

A moment passes before he says:

“Can you _really_ see in the dark?” He suddenly stops the wheelbarrow and stands in front of me. Holding up two fingers. “How many fingers am I holding?” He asks.

I roll my eyes, “Enough for me to poke your eyes out with” 

“Merlin, you’re awful.” He chides, “And a liar. You can’t see shit.”

I smirk at him in the dark, letting a fondness fall over my features. I know _he_ can’t see _that_. 

Snow rolls me up a small hill, hidden behind a collection of tall trees and stout shrubs. 

I gasp when I see it. 

The hill looks down on a clearing, illuminated by the moonlight, and reflected off the clear water of the pond. There are flowers everywhere, Normal flowers like daisies, hydrangeas, and bunches of peonies, and other magic flowers like glowing green Goblin’s Breath, Witch's Hair, and Water-Nymph Pads floating in a pond big enough to house a couple of mid-sized fishing boats. There’s a huge carved rock, shaped to look like an arched bridge in the center. Perfect for me to hide between if prying eyes get too close. 

And I hear it. Chirping. Buzzing. _Blood_. The sounds of life. 

Simon stops and sets the wheelbarrow down. He stands to the side of me and fidgets. 

“Do you like it?” He whispers, and I only hear him because I can hear things that others can’t. 

“Simon...” I say, and I feel soft tears cascading down my face. I’m so tired and it’s so… 

“It’s lovely.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay~ another chapter completed. The next one will likely be up in a week. 
> 
> I also feel like I should leave more interesting thoughts in these notes, but by the time I'm done writing, editing, checking for typos (and I STILL miss some), I'm just too pooped to think of anything witty to say. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! I absolutely love the Carry On series and I'm having a lot of run putting my spin on things. 
> 
> Also if you see any typos of inconsistencies let me know, I still don't have a beta~ heh!


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this! I had a big project due at work a couple of weeks ago, and by the time I finally got back to writing about Simon and Baz I'd sorta lost their voices. 
> 
> Hope you all are staying safe in your respective parts of your world! This is a long chapter and it's a lot of setup for the next couple chapters which you can expect to be filled with a good deal of character development, cuteness, more of the mystery reveal, and a bit of angst. 
> 
> I'm actually really enjoying writing this, and I hope you are still enjoying reading it!

# Part Three:

**_Simon_ **

Penny sneaks up to my room with me after dinner. It seems recently all I’ve been doing is sneaking around, and it’s all thanks to Baz and his rotten luck. (Well, more like _he’s_ the lucky one, what with _me_ offering to help _him_ and all). 

As we climb the stairs to the top of the tower, my clothes have finally stopped dripping, but they’re still a little damp. I had to pick Baz up again to put him in the pond and he clung against me like he had in our room. It didn’t seem right to just tilt him into the water with the wheelbarrow and then watch him flail about until he regained his bearings. (Not that Baz would ever flail. Too bloody graceful for that). After I lowered him into the water like a cat taking a bath for the first time, his cold hands unclasped from my neck and back. He then dove deep into the pond. I watched him dance through the clear water, the moonlight reflecting off the soft green glow of his tail and white shimmer of his skin. When he finally came up in a whoosh, throwing his hair back and flinging droplets everywhere, he was grinning. I couldn’t look away. 

“Reaching your full potential now, are we?” I blurted out when his eyes met mine. 

He splashed water in my face, with a sneer and a huff. Only it didn’t seem so harsh. A laughing huff. A smirkish sneer. 

I’d never seen him look so happy before. So unguarded. 

Especially after he’d been _crying_. I couldn’t see the tears, but I could hear them in his voice. 

That’s something I’m still trying to get used too, Baz having more than four emotions. 

“It feels... _good_.” He’d said, quietly. After he’d come down from the initial high of his freedom. He sunk his head into the water, and mumbled something that bubbled up against the surface of the pond before he dove back under the water and swam away. 

I left the woods with a strange ache in my chest. I’m not sure why. 

When Penny gets inside my room, the door of the ensuite is cracked open and Baz’s bathtub expanding spell still hasn’t worn off. I should probably get Penny to spell it back to normal. If I “ **as you were”** it, who knows what it might “ **as you were** ” into. And just when I finally got the bathroom back! Besides, I’m not sure if all the excess water Baz has been filling it up with is going to suddenly have nowhere else to go once the tub reverts back to its original state. 

“Merlin, what’s happened to your bathroom?” Penny peeks her head into the ensuite just as I’m leaning over to find the plug. Just my luck it’s on the far end and so I have to get wet _again_ , wading through the water just to reach for it. 

“Like I said Penny,” I reach the plug and pull it out with a nice popping sound and a soft grunt (the popping was the plug, the grunt me), “I’ve been helping Baz.” A clear bubble rises up and the water starts swirling down the drain, and with it the sweet acidic smell Baz left behind. When I look at Penny she’s got both her eyebrows raised. She waits until I step out of the tub before casting **as you were** for me. The tub shrinks back to its original size like a balloon losing all its air. “What’s going on Simon?” she says, “All this is awfully suspicious.” 

So I tell her: “I came back to our room after tea about a week ago, and found him, Baz, in _here_.” I gesture toward the tub. “He’d basically transformed into some sort of merman.”

Penny doesn’t even look mildly perturbed by this revelation, just skeptical. Between Humdrum attacks and your run of the mill magical mysteries, I think she’s slightly desensitized to all the happenings at Watford. The skepticism, though, is likely just because I used Baz and merman in the same sentence. She’s definitely had it up to hear with what she calls my “wild accusations” about Baz.

“Baz…. the, _vampire,_ has turned into, and I quote,” and she makes the iconic motion for quotes with her fingers just so I know how _“seriously”_ she’s taking this whole ordeal, “a merman.”

“Well, it sounds mad when you say it like that…” I shrug and rub my hand along the back of my neck, “But it’s the truth, Penny! Why do you think I came to dinner soaked to my bones? I had to go dump him in a pond down at the Wavering Wood, he was taking up the whole ensuite!”

“Why didn’t you just cast **as you were** on him?”

Oh Merlin. I hadn’t thought of that. Did Baz think of that? 

“I was preoccupied with other things...like trying to have a working bathroom.” I say instead, “Besides you know how unpredictable my magic is Penny… what if I, I dunno, **as you were** -ed him out of existence?” 

Penny sighs, “The spell doesn’t work like that.” But she still looks at me, long and hard, and doesn’t say what we’re both thinking. That it could work like that. Because my magic isn’t just unpredictable. It's unexplainable. I wish things and they happen. I think them and they are. 

It's scary to think about.

Penny’s never acted like she’s scared of me... 

Maybe she’s the only one that isn’t.

And Baz. He’s never once found me intimidating. It’s infuriating. When it’s him. 

With everyone else it’s just… 

sad...

Penny gives me a fond smile and pats me on the back. “I’ll sort this mess out for the pair of you splendid morons tomorrow.” I open my mouth to protests, as she says, “Loveable morons. Well..one of you at least.” She gives me a look and a hug then, “I can’t believe Basil didn’t think to cast the spell. Are you sure he isn’t just taking the piss? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s cast an illusion spell on himself to get a rise out of you Simon…” 

She’s referring to the time in second-year, where he spelled himself to look like a Jiangshi, a variety of “hopping vampires” mostly clustered in China (only minus the traditional clothes or Yellow-face. Even Baz knows about cultural appropriation, and although vampires are _evil_ , Baz wouldn’t stoop so low as to denigrate a whole culture just for a vampire joke. I’m pretty sure Baz is a race. His Aunt Fiona looks like she’s from the Middle East. “Not that that would excuse it.” Penny had said.) Regardless, he scared me half to death, hopping out at me as I was leaving Mummers, hands, and legs extended in front of him. On instinct, I socked him in the face. The force of it shook the spell off and we got into a proper fight, the both of us arguing in the middle of the courtyard. Eventually, it morphed into a tussle, and Ebb and Miss Possibelf had to spell us apart. I had a black eye for a week. Baz recovered within the day, not a bruise in sight. Bloody vampire genetics.

“No Penny,” I say, “This is different. I don’t think he did it to himself, he said and I quote “ _I_ _woke up like this._ ” 

_“Simon._ I trust you — and I do, completely — and you’ve seen Baz with your own two eyes so it _must_ be true. I’m just not sure it’s true for the reason you think it is. _”_

I open my mouth to correct Penny. I’m going to tell her I’m positive he isn’t trying to one-up me, or play some sort of practical joke, because he admitted it. That he's a vampire. But I catch myself, remembering the look of absolute defeat and panic he wore on his face the moment he blurted it out to me. The conviction in his voice when he said the Mage would lock him up for some weird magical experimentation if he ever found out. 

_If I told him._

_“I told him,”_ I say instead, “That we’d help. Figure it out I mean. Why he’s half fish now. I took him down to a pond in the wavering wood. It’s out of the way and you’d really have to hunt to find it, so no one can find him. You know Baz would never willingly spend the night out in the woods unless he had to, Penny. Plus he doesn’t want people knowing what happened…” As I rush to explain myself, I feel my face heating up and Penny looks down her glasses at me again: her equivalent to Baz’s one raised eyebrow. “I think he’s embarrassed.” I know I am. My head feels like a tomato about to burst. “We’re sorta on a truce now...”

_“_ But that’s unheard of...” Penny says and she’s not responding to anything I just said. She’s thinking, I can see the cogs running behind her glasses. She never can resist a new puzzle to solve. “No one just wakes up as a merperson out of the blue. It’s also not like vampirism or lycanthropy where you need to contract it somehow, like a disease of sorts. Besides how did he get to the ensuite if he literally woke up with a fin? Did something trigger it? Was it a spell? A curse? There aren’t any spells that cause permanent magical creature transformations...that we know of… Did he feel any residual magic? If he did wake up transformed, did he float like a butterfly to the tub?”

_“I don’t know Penny._ We haven’t talked about any of it yet. We had other things to worry about.” I don’t tell Penny those other things were trapping live rats in boxes, holding Baz, and making up some lie about my new “hobby” so I could steal a wheelbarrow. That all that was overlaid with a weird mix of feelings I wouldn’t normally associate with Baz. 

_Guilt._

_Pity._

_Sympathy._

_Warmth..._

“Like what?” Penny says.

Like…

Like when Baz asked me the night before why I was helping him. I wasn’t sure at first — so I tried lightening the mood with my Twilight joke. It felt good to unsettle him. It felt good to watch the worry on his face melt away. Just even for a few seconds.

But when he said he wasn’t human … I … 

Well, I’ve fought a lot of things in my lifetime that weren’t human. And things that aren’t human usually don’t emote as much as Baz did. They don’t flash pain and uncertainty and dejection and vulnerability across their face, and then try and hide it all away behind a scowl or a snarky comment. It’s usually just teeth and snarling and blood. 

“Just things,” I say aloud to Penny. “Look can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m really knackered and I haven’t had a shower yet.”

Penny sighs and smiles at me, “And I have an allnighter to pull. Didn’t drink all that caffeine at dinner for naught. Take me to Baz tomorrow at tea then? I’ll get this sorted.” 

I nod at her. “Careful on your way out, yeah?” 

She winks at me and then slips out the door. 

——-

**_Simon_ **

The ensuite feels strangely empty without Baz in it. Not that I’ve ever thought about Baz being in the ensuite with me. That’s not what I mean. I guess I just got used to having him around. And it feels... _wrong_ that he’s gone. 

It’s funny because I used to want Baz gone so bad I’d beg the Mage to let me switch roommates. And now that he is…Well he isn’t really. I _know_ where he is. 

And I’ll see him there tomorrow. 

As I survey the room, there’s still a slight hint of the orange woodsy smell that Baz left behind. All of his skin and hair care products are neatly packed around the sink instead of tucked out of the way. He must have still been using them while he was trapped in here. (Honestly, he’s _such_ a narcissistic git.) I step into the tub to shower and turn the water on. 

It’s not steamy enough to fog up the mirrors, but just warm enough not to be freezing. 

I wonder if Baz is cold out there. 

He'd never admit it if he was. 

I should worry about other things. I have a Political Science paper on the coven’s response to the dark creature problem pre-the Mage rising to power, _and_ a Greek casting presentation due at the end of next week. 

I absentmindedly reach for a shampoo bottle, and as I’m lathering it through my hair a familiar smell fills my nostrils. I’ve accidentally used Baz’s shampoo. I read the bottle: Cedar and Bergamot. That must be where the woodsy smell comes from.

Just like his scent, my brain is still flooded with thoughts of Baz. 

After I shower, I change, turn off the lights, and get into bed. I stare at Baz’s empty bed. 

I guess I’ll bring him his toiletries tomorrow. All fourteen of them. Minus the hair gel. 

His hair looks better down and flowing in his face anyways. 

˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⚘ 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 ⚘˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

**_Simon_ **

The next morning, I wake up to Penny standing over me. She’s peering down at me through her glasses, eyes strained and red-rimmed (which from this angle make her look like a zombie whose eyes are bogging dangerously out of her head). It startles me, and I let out a yelp—similar in fashion to the one Baz let out the evening before—and then tumble unceremoniously out of my bed. She’s waving a stack of tarot cards in my face in her opposite hand, completely unfazed.

“About time you woke up. It’s worse than we thought.”

“Mother of—Penny, can you at least knock? Merlin, you scared me half to death.”

“I _did_ knock. But you didn’t answer. And I seriously doubt you want me banging on your tower door at six-thirty in the morning when I’m not even supposed to be able to get in here.” 

It’s been years since I’ve known Penny and she still won’t tell me how she gets passed the wards. It’s also been years since anyone’s threatened to turn her in for violating them. Penny has a bit of a reputation amongst the boys. Kinda like the American gangster Al Capone. Or Gordon Ramsey. 

“Besides, this is too important to knock for Simon.” She waves the cards in my face again. “I did a reading last night, well _several_ , for my Reading the Fates assignment, and I think towards the end my head was all fuzzy with all that stuff you told me about Baz. I may have accidentally done the reading thinking about him. I pulled these three cards and came here immediately, it’s too on the nose to _not_ be about Basil. I stopped after the third one—look at the cards and you’ll see why.”

She holds the three cards out in front of me and I peer at them blinking my eyes into focus. The first card has a picture of a woman with a golden afro, chocolate skin, and a fishtail the same as Baz, only blue instead of green. She’s sitting on top of a rock in the middle of an ocean, looking forlorn and alluring. It reads “Siren.” The one next to it is a strange still life someone painted of a wall filled with mirrors. There’s a person reflected in the mirror and it looks like she’s being watched from every which way by all of her own eyes staring back at her. It's right creepy and the bottom reads “Reflection.” The last card is the most ominous and I feel a sense of dread creeping up my spine like a spider when I look at it. It’s a picture of a skeleton, cloaked in an ashy gray robe, boney hands held out in front of it with a wilted flower in the center of its palms. It reads “Death.”

“This isn’t necessarily...set in stone,” Penny says again, with a careful softness like she’s walking through a minefield, afraid that any wrong move could make something, or someone, _go off,_ “but it's definitely an omen. A seriously bad one at that.”

I feel my body starting to heat up, and will myself to calm down. 

It’s probably nothing. 

It probably was just a fluke. 

It can’t… 

_He_ can’t. 

I stop thinking about it. 

“We have to find Baz.” I say.

**Penny**

We plan to head out to the Wavering Woods at tea. Simon wanted to go to Baz right that minute, but I convinced him that it'd be even more suspicious if suddenly all three of us stopped consistently showing up for lessons. The faculty still think Baz is sick. Simon made me magic up a doctor’s note signed by Agatha’s dad to confirm it. It seems like they bought it. For now. I'm just hoping a gangle of Pitches don't show up with pitchforks outside Simon's bedroom door demanding to know where their heir is.

Before we head out to the woods, Simon asks me to bring a picnic basket down from my room in the Cloisters, and we head to the dining hall first. Simon marches up to the buffet and grabs a pot of tea, three cups, a mountain of sugar and cream, as well as at least six scones, some sandwiches, and fruit. Simon whispers in my ear an explanation. “Baz hasn’t eaten yet.” 

“But does he really need a whole teapot?” 

Simon shrugs. “He asked for it last night.” 

“And you’re just doing whatever he asks now?”

Simon shrugs again. “Truce.” But he has a somber look on his face. I let up. After all, this could be Basil's _last_ meal. 

If he isn’t already dead. 

When we get into the Wavering Woods, Simon takes me on so many twists and turns through bushes and briars that I’m sure I’d get lost trying to find my way back. The Wavering Wood has always been creepy. I could cast a **follow your heart** to get back out of the Woods if I need to. But I’d have to really want to be back at Watford, otherwise, I might end up following some desire I didn’t even know I had. Besides I didn’t sleep much last night so it’s possible the only thing my heart could desire right now is sleep, and sleeping in the Wavering Wood is a surefire way to be spirited away. Out of the corner of my eyes, I catch sight of what looks like willow trees moving in the wind, but is likely just the wispy hairs of the druids that guard this place. For some reason, they’re all heavily into Lolita style fashion (it’s a valid aesthetic, though the druids have been around much longer than the Victorians, so I’m not sure why they’re so stuck on the fashion of that era. They still have the 80s after all). 

Simon, thankfully, seems to have enough experience combing through these woods to find his way out again for the both of us. What will all the days he's spent following Baz around in here. 

When we finally arrive at a clearing, Simon makes another left and leads me through a mass of trees. When we get to the other side I see it, the pond Simon was talking about, situated at the bottom of an incline, and surrounded by clusters of flowers—ordinary and magical alike. 

It’s a _really nice_ pond to dump your nemesis in while he waits for you to bring him biscuits and tea. 

Speak of the devil, Tyrannus Basilton Grim-Pitch is doing backstrokes across the expanse of water, his long shimmery fin propelling him forward. His eyes flick over to us as we make our way down towards the pond, and he dives under the water, launching himself out again like a dolphin as he swims towards the bank. Glowing. 

“Nicks and slicks.”

“Show off.” Simon mutters under his breath. 

**_Baz_ **

Simon had told me the night before he was going to bring Bunce into this, and while I am certainly not one to hide my head like a shrinking violet, I just didn’t expect Bunce to look so flummoxed at my predicament. It’s making me feel a little less confident that we’ll have this solved within the day. I watch the two of them as they approach me, Bunce looking at me like she’d just found the fairies, while Simon gawks at me like a pigeon who just spotted something shiny. 

I take him in (because I can’t help but indulge a little, under the circumstances), and Simon Snow looks lovely today. It’s overcast, so there’s no golden sun to reflect off his golden skin, but Simon still glows like he’s meant to rival the sun (Fiona would laugh at me if she’d ever catch me waxing poetically about the Chosen One. And using such cliched metaphors to do so at that!)

Simon’s bronze curls are frizzed out at the ends (it gets like that when he’s been running his hands through them, something he does _constantly_ ), and his Watford jumper strains across his broad shoulders. I may be taller than Simon, but he’s certainly sturdier-looking than me. His shirt is tucked into his trousers haphazardly (the bloody disaster), and he’s carrying in his arms a picnic basket big enough to feed a mid-sized family of five. There’s a jam stain on his left thigh (probably leftover from breakfast), and his muscles strain against his tight trousers as he bends to set the basket down along the banks. His shirt unravels from its place tucked into his trousers to reveal a small sliver of skin dotted with moles. I can see the tips of his pants (standard atrocious tighty-whiteys.) 

Honestly, the things I find arousing about Snow astound me. 

Bunce reaches her ringed finger out as I near the bank to meet them and casts “ **as you were** ” over me with every bit of intention she can muster. 

Crowley, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. Too busy wallowing in self-pity at my predicament to use my head. Well, the one that wasn’t preoccupied with my inability to copulate with an (imagine that) willing Simon Snow.

Bunce is a powerful mage. I feel this heavy feeling like someone has dumped a bucket of molasses over me as her magic sinks into my being. But I don’t feel any different. I don’t feel the Change reversing. My mouth does taste like sage though. 

“Blast I was hoping that’d do the trick,” Bunce mutters. “Looks like we’re in this for the long haul then.” 

“Tell him about the cards,” Simon says as he bends down to open up the picnic basket, perfect arse on full display. Snow doesn’t care whose face his butt is in front of (though I can’t say I mind, though my tail is feeling a tad tingley) (Mother of Methuselah am I actually getting physically aroused in this form?). 

“What cards?” I say as Simon pulls out a large jumper and lays it on the ground next to the bank. Bunce waves her ringed finger over it and casts a “ **size up** .” She casts it a few more times. ( **Size up** is a stupid spell. It only grows clothing items, and only one size up at a time.) Simon then sits on the jumper and starts rifling through the picnic basket. He pulls out a full tea set, sandwiches and fruit, and then pours a cup of tea, dresses it with plenty of cream and what I would consider a completely reasonable amount of sugar (interesting...), and then hands it to me. I feel my whole body going warm as I lift my hands out of the water and place them around the cup, our fingers brushing. 

“It’s not poisoned is it?” I say, averting my gaze, and sneering. My undead heart is in danger of resuscitating itself. 

**“** Of course not you tit!” is Snow’s eloquent response. “I’ve been bringing you food for a week. Why would I suddenly decide now is the ideal time to poison you?”

“Easier to dispose of the body out here.”

“You _asked me_ to bring you tea.” 

“And perhaps the Mage _asked you_ to poison it.” 

“Boys,” Bunce groans, “Cut it out. The tea isn’t poisoned.” She pours herself a cup and takes a slip, pointedly making eye contact with me. “Besides,” She says, “We have more important things to discuss… Basil. I have some bad news.”

And then Penelope Bunce proceeds to tell me that she thinks she’s had a premonition that I’m going to die. She shows me the cards: siren, reflection, death. 

“That could mean anything,” I say. And that is specifically why I don’t take divination as an elective. It’s hard enough having my father, Fiona, and the old families breathing down my neck about my tragic destiny to take out Snow. I don’t need anymore vague or otherwise ominous premonitions dictating the route I’m supposed to take to hell.

I tell Bunce as much, minus the melodrama about killing Snow (in the interests of our truce, and because I’m sure her and Simon won’t take kindly to it). She says, “You’re taking it too literally. It’s a guide, not a map.”

“Potae-toe, Pota-toe.” 

“Honestly Basil, they’re hints. As we start looking deeper into all this, we’re going to find overlap.”

“Yes, Bunce. But it doesn’t have to be _my_ death. It could be yours. Or _Snows_. Or some other bloody siren who had the rotten luck of seeing her own reflection in the mirror.”

“What like Medusa?” Simon chimes in. “Does the reflection card mean you’re going to be turned to stone?”

“No.” Bunce cuts in. “It’s true that tarot readings are more about the interpretation than the intention, but they’re signs and symbols. I’m not saying it’s the _law, or even that Basil is going to die_. I’m just saying it’s a bad omen. Regardless, I will concede that we should stop talking about what-ifs and focus on what we do know.” She casts a **see what I mean** and points her ringed finger like a pen. She then starts neatly dividing the board into two columns: what we know, what we don’t know. 

“Now Basil. Let’s start from the beginning — how did this happen? And spare no detail. Anything could be a clue.”

So I tell her. About how touching the water seemed to be the trigger. How I didn’t feel any magical residue. Just _dry_ , all over. That I fainted when I got into the shower (Simon flicks his eyes over to me when I say that, they’re wide like big blue saucers— he looks moronic). And I felt less parched when I woke up in the water. It was like my skin was thirsty. 

“Could it be the Humdrum?” Simon asks as he chews through a large bite of a beef pastrami sandwich. “That could explain the dry feeling.” 

“But you didn’t feel anything when Baz woke up Simon.” Penny replies, sipping her tea, “It’s usually pretty obvious when the Humdrum is behind something.”

“Well maybe it’s getting crafty. Maybe the Humdrum did something to Baz and only Baz and that’s why I didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary that morning.” I look over to Simon and his blue eyes are piercing through me. I look away. 

“Maybe…” 

Bunce tilts her head. “Yes...but why Baz…?”

“Isn’t it oblivious?” Simon exclaims. “To get to me! The Humdrum is always sending magical creatures after me and…” Simon's eyes flick to mine. He looks like we have a secret between us — and we do, my vampirism (though it’s comical, considering how many years Simon Snow has been openly declaring this “secret” to anyone that will listen). “Look, what I’m saying is…it...it makes sense.”

“Yes,” Penny says carefully (and skeptically, I might add), “But what possible damage could Baz do to you as a merperson in your room? The anathema is still in effect”

“Maybe the Humdrum doesn’t know about it. Maybe it doesn’t _care_ if Baz hurts me in our room.”

“Well,” I say, gloriously interrupting. “It’s plan certainly _failed_.”

“The Humdrum usually _mind_ _controls_ the creatures it sends to Watford. Basil, you didn’t feel enthralled?”

“No.” I say. Well assuming she’s not talking about being enthralled by Simon Snow. That I am constantly. 

“Is anyone else missing? How do we know it was only Basil who was affected?” 

“It’s been a week Penny. I think we’d know by now if anyone else had been transformed.” 

Penny writes in the “what we know” collum: transformation, dry feeling. The “what we don’t know” collum is longer: the trigger, the Humdrum doing?, why Baz was the target?, isolated incident?, what the cards mean?”

“Well...we’re at a dead end.” Bunce says after another sip of her tea. “Simon and I will start researching magical creature transformations in the library. Reconvene tomorrow? Perhaps merism _is_ a _disease_. It could have evolved?”

“Doubtful.” I say. 

"Maybe you got it from a Merwolf?" Simon whispers, pointedly at me. I roll my eyes. _Extra_ dramatically. 

Bunce gets up from her place on the jumper, dusting imaginary mud off her skirt. Simon doesn't move, just stares at his feet.

“Let’s go Simon.” She says. Snow startles and then his eyes flick to me, then back at the basket. He puts away all the food except my untouched sandwich and apple. 

I feel like I need to say or do _something_. Before he goes. There’s this heaviness between us that feels different from our usual awkward animosity. We are on a _truce_ after all.

Simon beats me to it. He reaches into his book bag and pulls out a clear plastic travel bag. It’s filled with my hair and skin products. I look at Simon like he’s grown two heads. He sticks his chin out and meets my eyes like he’s daring me to question him.

Crowley. How is this more surprising than the boy bringing me live rats to suck dry? 

“Here,” he says, holding the products out. “It’s...it’s good to have a routine. I mean when things are…” He shrugs. “Different.” 

I see the blush fanning out across his skin, and it’s contagious. Bloody Snow. 

“Care-“ I clear my throat. “Careful on your way out Snow.” He turns to look at me with his mouth hanging wide open. “Don’t want the sprites Hansel and Gretel-ing you to some witches den in the forest.”

“Why? Because then there’d be no one to help you?” 

“Precisely.”

He shakes his head. “You’re such a villain.” 

But it doesn’t sound like he means it.

˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⚘ 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 ⚘˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

**_Baz_ **

Ever since Bunce has committed herself to our little investigation party, she’s been peppering me with questions like she’s writing a case study on merpeople. Says that we should try and learn more about my physiology, strengths and limitations while I’m in this form. I think she’s grasping at straws since she and Simon have yet to find any useful information about merpeople transformations in the Watford library. Regardless Bunce thinks that understanding how my merism works will give us a clue as to the degree or temporality of the spell. 

_If_ , it’s a spell. Or curse. Or...permanent. 

Crowley, I hope it isn't. I really don’t think I can live like this. I haven’t bothered to notify my parents… or Fiona. It’s bad enough that the last Pitch heir is barren and undead, add glittering merman to the list, on top of hopelessly queer and current fierce proponent of the Pitch-Snow-Bunce Alliance, and I’m sure my father will have a heart attack. The only silver lining in all this is that I get to spend time with Snow, and he seems weirdly transfixed by me. I get it, my tail glows, and it’s like my skin is permanently caked in highlighter. The kind you use as makeup, not the neon yellow pens. That would be a disaster. 

Bunce’s questions are endless:

Can I breathe underwater? Yes

Can I cast spells underwater? No — everything is gargled and the words don’t go anywhere. But what if I cast a barrier spell first? — Still no. The spells don’t go through the barrier. 

Do I have any special powers? _Like can I talk to fish?_ (Snow wants to know). And no, I don’t think so...unless you count breathing underwater. And _of course,_ I can’t talk to fish Simon. I’m not Aquaman for Chomsky’s sake. 

When do I sleep? Nighttime, but I don’t need to as much. (I don’t tell them it’s likely because of insomnia and slight anxiety, and not a result of my new...affliction). 

Has my diet changed? No. _Do I find sucking the blood out of fish cannibalistic? (_ Simon, again, and under his breath and quiet enough so that Bunce can’t hear _)_ “For the last time, No Snow. And you’re the one who brought me a bloody fish sandwich for lunch.” I whisper hiss back at him. 

Why do I still need to eat Human food? Filed away for further research. ( _Do you get stomach cramps after eating? After all you're not supposed to eat and then go for a swim—_ Do _you_ get stomach cramps considering how much you shovel into your pie hole?)

Penny thinks the needing to eat is because I’m not fully a merperson. Like my body is confused because I’m too many things at once: boy, vampire (well she doesn't know about that one), merman, mage (Mages aren’t a different species or anything, but what we do with magic, the way we channel it through our beings like a current, is unique amongst the magickal community, we’re almost a separate species in and of ourselves).

I have to admit though. Despite all the questions, I quite enjoy bouncing ideas off of Bunce. She’s smart as a whip and there’s a sharp sticktoitiveness to her that reminds me of my late mother. She’s fierce and determined and can back up every opinion that she has. It makes for some great debates. 

I see why Snow follows her around. 

**_Snow_ **

I’m sitting at the edge of the bank staring into the water. It’s so clear I can see myself staring back at me. And Baz. He’s not staring at me. He’s lounging against a rock, looking like a majestic pale grey baby seal (same pouty eyes) and he’s biting his lip and subconsciously sucking on his fangs — I wish I knew what he was thinking. About all this. Sure his tongue is as sharp as ever. But it’s all bark and no bite. 

Most days he just looks tired. 

“Simon—” I suddenly snap my attention back to Penny who I realize has been calling my name. “Come along, it’s time we head back for afternoon lessons.” My eyes shift back to Baz who I catch staring at me. He looks away when my eyes meet his and crosses his arms across his still very bare chest. I look at Penny whose eyes are shifting from me to Baz. “Basil,” She says while staring at me. “We’ll go straight to the library after lessons and research this further. See you again at tea tomorrow?”

“Not like I have anywhere else to be.” 

As we walk back across the clearing and are far enough away that it’s unlikely Baz could hear us even with his vampire ears. Penny says. “Agatha’s coming back tomorrow.” 

I let out a soft groan, and rub my hand down my face. With all that’s been going on recently, I completely forgot that Agatha has been away for a few weeks, something about a very intense horse jumping competition. She’d kissed me goodbye and said she’d send a bird. 

She never did. 

I guess I didn’t send her any birds either. 

“Right.” I say to Penny. 

“Have you spoken to her at all?” Penny asks. “About, ya know, all of this?” 

“Not yet.” I say. 

“Are you going to?”

I don’t say anything. A pang of jealousy shoots through me. I don’t think I want Agatha anywhere near Baz. Not when he’s looking like… _that._

All toned upper body.

Wet _and_ shirtless.

Hair looking silky and majestic just like one of the horses Agatha's seems to love so much...

“Well, we should at least let her help. We don’t have to tell her we’re helping _Baz_ ” Penny says. “Besides...it’s been ages since you’ve seen each other. Maybe some time spent together researching can act as a sort of ...bonding experience. Nothing like a good mystery to bring people together.” 

“Maybe.” I say. I know Penny is only trying to help. In the only way she really knows how. But I'm not sure how fond of mysteries Agatha is. She always falls asleep when we're watching Sherlock. 

We're both silent for a while. Then Penny says to me, "Where's your cross?"

I shrug. "Don't need it anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news my dudes: I have about half of the chapter after this written -- prepare for some heart to heart SnowBaz talks. Don't get me wrong, I'm a sucker for the snogging, but also the emotional bonding. It makes the snogging so much more worth it if you ask me. 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos~~ I'm happy you guys are enjoying this. As always, I'm sorry for any typos and stuff. San beta and also is it obvious I'm clearly not British? 
> 
> BTW, was rereading bits of Wayward Son to get a feel for the characters again and like MY GOD that book is heartbreaking. Baz is my favorite character, though I love Simon, Penny, Agatha, and Shepard... but sweet god when Baz feels things it just breaks my heart. And him and Penny's friendship. *insert abnoxious crying noises*


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry -- it takes me a while to write. But good news -- long AF chapter. I hope it was worth the wait. I may have changed the timeline of Simon's past. I think he starts making his list after the first summer away from Watford? I switched it to the Summer between third and fouth year.

## Part Four:

**_Penny_ **

Figuring out what’s wrong with Baz has become a full-time job. On top of the full-time job that is being a student. And the “Chosen One’s” Dread Companion. 

Plus there’s maintaining a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend. 

Getting on with Micah doesn’t _feel_ like a job though. I’m going to go see him over the summer! Well...that is if we can solve the mystery of Merman Pitch before the end of term. Or before the Humdrum attacks again. It’s been ages since I’ve seen my boyfriend (and since the Humdrum has done anything nasty), and it’s starting to feel a bit like a fairytale that he exists (Micah, not the Humdrum). Like he’s just a figment of something I magicked up. 

And I want it to feel real, solid. 

I can reach out and touch Simon if I want. Agatha even. They’re both what grounds me when the world is going to shite around us. Well, when Agatha's with me and Simon when it's going to shite, that is. 

Speaking of Agatha, she finally came back to Watford yesterday. I saw her in the Cloisters this morning looking the picture of health. Well, considering the real reason she was gone for so long. 

Simon doesn’t know it, that she’s been unwell. She asked me not to tell him, since it was his magic that made her sick. 

I don’t like lying to Simon— _I don’t lie to Simon._ We have a no secrets pact. 

But there are some secrets you keep to protect the people you love. 

And Simon only has so many people to love him in his life. Only so many people he can return to like he’s going home. 

I’m not sure that Simon is completely at home with Agatha. 

Oddly enough, _Basil_ seems to share a weird place in Simon’s inner circle. It’s not like him and Simon are ... _friends or anything_. But there’s something lingering between them. 

When Basil looks at Simon. It’s like he’s a lion watching a lamb. There’s something feral and enchanted in his eyes, and he pretends he’s not been staring at him whenever Simon looks in his direction. 

Merlin! I don’t understand Simon and Agatha’s special fascination with Baz. Or Baz’s special fixation with the two of them. Although, I am finding him to be surprisingly good company. (Simon wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if he knew!) 

Simon (and Agatha) are sitting across from me now in the dining hall. Agatha is sipping her tea and flipping through her spell tome. She’s missed a week and a half of lessons, though she doesn’t seem at all worried that she’s fallen behind. Merlin knows she spends more time painting her nails a new color than she does reviewing for lessons. I always tell her to just spell the colors on to save time but she thinks it’s a waste of magic. 

Simon is gnawing into a cherry scone he stuffed _and_ drenched in melted butter. He’s been calmer since Baz hasn’t been at meals, yet he still doesn’t quite... _stand to attention_ , as it were. If anything, he seems like a part of him is still back in the Wavering Woods. I take a sip of my tea, and let out a small huff and stare at the pair of them. Simon had kissed Agatha when she first sat down and it was like watching Simon snog a dead fish (topical, considering Basil’s current predicament). 

What were the lines of that one song on _Buffy_ we watched a few weekends ago? 

Ah that was it: _going through the motions_. 

You’d think they’d find something to talk about. But Simon can barely function when talking to Agatha about dressage, and he’s terrified of horses. Plus he’s not going to talk to her about _Baz_ — one of the only other interests they have in common (there I said it!)

I sigh. I was hoping that they’d figure out a way to get past this rift in their relationship: either talk and patch things up or decide they’re better off as friends. It’s becoming painfully awkward watching as the gulf of all that’s been left unsaid _widens_. 

And I _hate_ leaving things unsaid. 

I know that if I don’t push Simon he won’t do anything about it. I love him dearly, but he can be right shite at communicating his feelings sometimes. Baz always snarls at him to “use his words” when the passive aggressive smoke of Simon’s magic starts to simmer, as if he’s kindling a furnace inside him that’s about to burst out through his seams.

To play devil's advocate (which is by the way an awful spell a Watford eight-year invented last term. It’s basically useless unless you want to summon an actual devil and play his advocate, or defend your enemy from attacks in battle), but Baz does have a point. Simon _does_ need to use his words. 

I almost miss our rendezvous with Basil in the woods. At least Simon is animated then. Even though half the time he’s trading verbal jabs with Baz. Or whispering to him when he thinks I can’t hear. Or staring at him like he thinks he’s going to disappear. 

Now, Simon won’t even look at Agatha. 

I clear my throat, and they startle, both looking up at me like they’ve forgotten I was here. “So,” I say. “Study group in the library after lessons today? Simon and I both have things on at tea, so it’d be a good time for us to all...catch up.” I smile at the both of them.

“Alright.” Simon says. 

“What’s on at tea?” Agathta asks, suspiciously, as she narrows her eyes at me. 

“I’ve got a meeting with Ms. Possibelf” I say. Simon is less smooth, but stutters out. “And I’ve got a ..uh… training—with the Mage!” 

Agatha's frown deepens. 

“Besides,” I say, eyeing Agatha’s spell tome, “I can tell you what you missed in elocation...and we can do horoscopes.” Agatha looks at me skeptically. She hates magical horoscopes. “The Normal kind.” I clarify much to my own chagrin. I hate the Normal kind (inaccurate load of toss). 

She perks up a bit at that. 

I hope you realize I’m doing this for you Simon. 

**_Agatha_ **

Simon and Penny won’t tell me _why_ we’re spending Friday afternoon looking up information about merpeople related curses and transformations. It must be for one of the Mage’s missions, or Humdrum related. I just hope when they finally face off with this semester’s Big Bad, it won’t end in another near-drowning incident for yours truly, or any of us really. The time with the well was enough for one existence. 

I think Penny is afraid I’ll bolt if I know all the details. But Simon… Simon usually doesn’t hold out on me— if I really ask him for the truth. He’s my boyfriend. He’s obligated to take my side over Penny’s. He obliged to tell me things he doesn’t tell her. 

But he never does so voluntarily. And sometimes I forget to ask. 

I sorta feel like that’s maybe not how it’s supposed to work. 

Well I guess I haven’t been completely honest with him either: honestly who has a nearly two week long dressage tournament? I only told Simon that because it was easier than the truth: that the last spell he cast on me made me so sick I could barely function. I was on my period and complained about my stomach cramps, and Simon, bless his heart, tried to cast a simple get well soon, but mispronounced the well as _wall_ and I’d felt the force of his magic crash into me like a violent sea of fire. Simon is really sensitive about his magic...and his lack of control with it. So I didn’t say anything, and excused myself so I could go vomit in the public toliet. (I don’t think he caught on.) After that I stayed home for three days, twitching and throbbing, and then just prolonged the “sickness” until my parents decided I was clearly well enough to return to school. 

I sort of wish I’d never had to come back. 

Penny has left us to go grab a book down one of the stacks (so far we haven't done _any_ horoscopes, Normal or otherwise), and she’s been gone for at least thirty minutes. Simon is tapping his foot and has been running his fingers through his hair so much he looks mad. He’s flipping through the pages of a Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales anthology until he settles on the story titled, _The Little Mermaid._

I actually liked the Disney version. I sing the lyrics in my head to my favorite song from it: 

_Wandering free_

_Wish I could be_

_A part of your world._

And Simon, even though he wasn’t born into _this world_ is more a part of it now than I will ever be. We have only said a few words between us since we got here, and I don’t feel like saying anymore. 

It feels like I’m surrounded by a wall this time instead of having one crash into one. 

I can’t say I mind it all that much. 

I look at Simon. 

I love him.

Just not in the way I’m supposed to. 

**_Simon_ **

I walk Penny and Agatha back to the Cloisters when we’re done at the library and you could cut the tension with a knife (sadly, _not_ with the sword of mages, believe me I would have tried). I considered casting **clear the air** but I did that once in third year and had to experience the horror of watching a flock of birds take a nosedive that did not look at all planned. 

Agatha is cross because Penny had tried to sneak a book out of the library. Agatha put up a huge stink about the books in the library being free anyways so it really didn’t make any sense for us ( _Penny_ ) to steal anything. Penny quoted her mum, “Information wants to be free!”

“That’s the definition of a library!” Agatha shouted back. “Who steals from a library!?” 

That caught the attention of the librarian and Penelope was forced to attempt to check in out on her account — it turns out she’s got a hefty overdue notice, many of them astronomical fines to replace priceless magical books from the previous century that have mysteriously “gone missing” in her care, and so I end up having to check the book out for her. As I scan the book across the desk, Penny leans over and whispers in my ear, I think at this point just to tick off Agatha, “See Simon, this is why it doesn’t really do us any good to invite Agatha in on our secret missions.” 

That puts Agatha in a _right_ mood. I don’t tell Penny it was her idea to invite Agatha along. 

What a bloody disaster! I’m not sure who she’s more cross with between the two of us. The walk back to the Cloisters is dead silent and Penny doesn’t seem to regret what was said. I’m sure she’ll apologize to Agatha tomorrow, their rows never last long, mostly because Penny forgets they’re having one. I probably should be taking Agatha’s side in this fight. But I feel like I’ve been in a fight with Aggie all day, and I don’t know why and I'm too agitated to care — agitated because we wouldn't even be fighting now if _Baz_ hadn’t gone and gotten himself cursed, and if he didn’t go around flirting with my girlfriend looking as fit as he does on any given day. Plus I’m not sure how long we can hide him in the pond. I suppose the flower field is pretty deep in the Wavering Woods, and there are enough rocks for him to hide behind if someone happens to get a little too close. 

I feel like maybe all this would just be easier if I was to tell Agatha we’re just trying to help Baz. 

_“But he’s evil Simon.”_ She’d say. 

He’s not evil. Baz. Not really. Just difficult. 

_“But he’s evil Simon, and a vampire.”_

He’s not. He could have bitten me. He hasn’t _(Yet.)_

_“He’s an evil teenage vampire and objectively fitter than you and I’m desperately attracted to him.”_

I shake my head, trying to shake the picture of Baz, shirtless and dripping wet, from where it's been imprinted on the back of my eyelids. When we reach the entrance to the Cloisters, I turn to kiss Agatha goodbye, but she turns her head so I kiss her cheek instead.

_“I’m desperately attracted to him, and even more so now that his skin lights up like a sparkly green disco ball, and I’m leaving you for him.”_

“Bye Simon, see you in a few for dinner!” Penny calls from over her shoulder, she’s got her head buried in the book she wanted to steal (it’s on fairy tale curses), and is already walking through the door. Agatha follows her and doesn’t say anything. 

I don’t know why I wait until the entrance to the Cloisters swings shut before saying “Goodbye.”

˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⚘ 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 ⚘˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

**_Simon_ **

I’m in my room, laying in bed, but I can’t relax. The room feels hotter than normal, even though I left the window open since Baz isn’t here to complain about it. I toss and turn and kick my sheets to the floor. A sudden gust of cold wind rattles the open window. 

Is he cold out there? 

I check the time again, and chuck on my shoes and grab the first pullover I see before I’m out the door. As I tuck it under my arm, I realize it’s Agatha’s Watford Lacrosse hoodie. It’s big on me. Agatha bought it over-sized as a gift, just in case I grew into it (I haven’t yet). 

I thought I was just going for a walk, to clear my head and let off some of this nervous energy before meeting up with Penny and Agatha for dinner, but before I know it I’m across the drawbridge and at the edge of the Wavering Wood. I stare ahead trying to decide if I should go forward or not, when suddenly the decision gets made for me. I hear a loud cranking sound as the drawbridge starts rising behind me, the sun rapidly setting. 

Well. There goes a good meal. 

I don’t look back as I charge forward and call the sword of mages to my hand, (and not to kill Baz, I mean… I’m _supposed_ to some day, but because venturing through the woods alone can be dangerous for anyone).

**_Simon_ **

As I make my way to the pond (to Baz), I reach the edge of the clearing and I see him. He hasn’t noticed me yet. I find myself hesitating to approach and so settle for staring at him instead. 

He’s climbed out of the water (well maybe flipped or magicked himself is more accurate ) and is perched atop a small rock near the bank we usually sit at for our daily briefings. He still doesn’t see me, and I can only see him because his tail is illuminating the outline of his body. The moon is out now, hanging low and full in the night sky and Baz eclipses it. I watch the shadows flicker across the muscles in his back as he sways rhythmically to and fro. I can tell from here his lips are moving, and I think maybe he’s casting a spell. As I get closer, I hear that he’s singing the lyrics to a song. 

“ _Who are you?_ ” His voice is lush: full bodied, deep and dynamic. It’s like listening to an angel. 

A _sad_ Angel, if I’m honest. 

“ _Who am I to you? I am the antichrist to you, fallen from the sky with grace, into your arms race…”_

Sad. But so beautiful. 

“What’s that?” I ask as I near the bank, putting the sword of mages away. Baz doesn’t seem startled by my presence, just right himself and turns to me. There’s a melancholy in his deep gray eyes alongside the normal animosity. 

“A song Snow,” He sneers, defensively. “Or have you not even that much culture?”

“Oh come off it!” I reply with a growl. “I’m just curious. I...I _liked_ it actually. What’s it called?”

Baz looks at me like he can’t quite figure me out and raises an eyebrow. He sighs and says. “It’s a Kishi Bashi song. I liked to play it on violin. Before all this.”

“Have I heard you play it before?” I ask and regret it immediately. It’s not like Baz has ever invited me to listen to him play violin. When I was following him around all of fifth year he’d sometimes try to escape me, and so would head out to the ramparts with his violin case (I always thought he was hiding something in there). He’d lean against the cool cobblestone, bend over to take his violin, dark red oak and black bow, from its case. He'd look out over the Watford courtyard, suck in a breath, and then start to fiddle. The first time I heard him play I was transfixed, so much so I thought he had me under a thrall of some sort (musically induced thralls are actually quite common). I’ve heard Baz play violin about as many times as I’ve stalked him down to the catacombs. Sometimes I’d even look forward to the days when he’d grab his violin case before leaving our room.

But Baz has never invited me to listen to him play, and why would he? We’re supposed to be sworn enemies. I start flushing as I think about the fact that what I’d said makes me sound like, I don’t know… I’m obsessed with him or something. (Penny would have a field day if she knew the thought had even crossed my mind!) I feel my face getting hot as I fixate on the fact that, well, I sound _too eager._ “I mean, what’s the name of it then?” I say to try and change the subject. 

Baz raises another eyebrow at me, but then abruptly looks away when he responds. “It’s…” He swallows and my eyes follow the movement. “It’s called _I am the Antichrist to you_.” 

“Merlin Baz, that’s morbid.”

He snorts. “That’s what my stepmother said, though she used the phrase _needlessly morose.”_

_“_ Then why do you like it so much? I mean if it’s _needless.”_

_“That's what my stepmother thinks._ Not _me._ Why do _you_ like it then Snow?”

I shrug.“ I dunno,” I reply. “I guess I can relate to it... the arms race bit and all, and your voice is...well nice. ” 

Baz’s seems to turn a very light shade of pink (is he _blushing_? Merlin even blushing looks good on him.) His voice is soft when he replies, and he avoids my eyes. “Thank you.” He says. And I’m left feeling stupefied. I don’t think he’s ever thanked me before. Not even when I brought him to this pond in the first place (though he did cry, I guess that’s a show of thanks…) “I like that part too.” He says. 

That softens me a bit, so I tell Baz something...something I haven’t even told Penny. 

“I don’t get to listen to much music,” I say, I stare at the grown and start kicking a pebble. I don’t think I can look at Baz while I say this. “I had an iPad at one point—the Mage brought it for me, ya know to stay close to language and all that. But I’d lost it in a fight—it was over the summer of third and fourth year—one of the older boys at the homes, he pulled a knife on me and made me give it up to stop him bullying one of the younger boys. He was pretty vicious and had already gotten in a few good slashes before he demanded the iPad as some sort of tribute. It’s mad isn’t it? What someone will do to take something from someone else… that greed.” I steal a quick peek at Baz and he’s staring at me intently. I look away. “It’s not a big deal,” I continue. “There were only a few songs on there. I used to listen to them to fall asleep— there was one I really liked. I guess your step mum would also call it needlessly morose, it was a bit bleak...but it always made me think of Watford.” I run a hand through my hair and scratch the back of my neck.

Baz says nothing for a long time and I’m afraid to look at him. 

“What was the song?” He asks, tentatively. 

“I dunno.” I shrug again. “I don’t actually remember the title of the song, just some of the lyrics.” 

“You could sing it for me.” He says. 

“But I don’t remember it. Well not well enough to sing it.”

“Don’t then. Say the lines you do remember and I’ll cast **Shazam.** ”

“You’ll cast what?” 

**“Shazam.”** Baz says again, “It’s an app that helps you find the name of songs you hear on the telly or over radio. Someone made it into a spell last year. It’ll make me say the song name, but only after I’ve sung a few verses to make sure it’s the right song. It’s pretty brilliant actually if not a tad cliche.” 

“I really don’t remember it all that well,” I say, but I start speaking anyway, just in case, and because I’m kind of excited. I haven’t heard the song in ages and I’m feeling nostalgic. “There’s a _reckless_ in the lyrics that kinda goes up and down?” 

_“_ Excellent description Snow.” Baz cocks an eyebrow at me and I realize he’s being playful. “But not enough for the spell to work.”

“Anyways it goes something like... _you were always pretty reeeeckless with your love_.” I feel myself flushing at the word “love.”

Baz doesn’t seem to notice,. He casts **Shazam** and picks up where I leave off, his voice sends a pleasing shiver down my spine:

“ _Come with the sun and get it restless when it's gone_ ,” I find myself smiling as I hear it, the memory of how it made me feel taking over. 

“ _And when you go you'll leave me breathless and alone_ ” He continues and I can’t stop smiling at him. 

I know the song is about love...romantic love, but it’d always made me think about Watford. The first time I played it I listened to it on loop until I fell asleep, it was the most at peace I’d ever felt in care. That went on for only a few days before I lost the iPad. It was after that summer in care that I started making the list of things not to think about. 

I join him and our voices merge. “ _You leave me breathless, when you close the door_ ” we make eye contact. “ _It feels just like you took the air out of the room with you._ ” 

It hurt so much back then to think about Watford, and it did make me feel a bit breathless if I did. Like my chest was physically incapable of taking in enough air. I only felt better if I didn’t think about all the things I missed so terribly: Penny, Agatha, the Mage, Ebb, the scones, magic. 

Baz was never on the list though. I could never stop thinking about him.

The song keeps flowing out of Baz’s mouth and I close my eyes.

_“Your voice is echoing again_

_Through catacombs inside my mind”_

The catacombs part always made me think of Baz. 

_“And I've been dreaming of revenge_

_To make you love me more than even you can try.”_

This part too. (Because of revenge). We were fighting pretty viciously at this point.

_“All words converge to where you are_

_And if I follow I would surely find”_

What was I hoping to find? I know he’s a vampire now. So why does it feel like I still haven’t found what I’m looking for?

There's a sudden silence as our eyes meet and Baz’s mouth is open again. I want to cover it.

“Dan Wilson,” He breathes. “Breathless.”

I nod. I swallow. I mean to speak. But I’m feeling a bit breathless myself, which is absolute nonsense since we’re both outside and there’s plenty of air to breathe. 

I clear my throat, “yeah that’s it.”

“It’s a lovely song.”

I don’t know what to say, so naturally I say something incredibly stupid. 

“So do you think of yourself as the antichrist, then? I mean since your a vampire.”

Baz laughs then, a bitter laugh, and runs a hand along his fin. “Isn’t it obvious? I suck the blood out of cute woodland creatures. I torment you. I’m dangerous. I’ve hurt people. As far I’m concerned whatever this curse is ...I had it coming.”

“ _You didn’t —_ Baz from all I can tell you diet consists of grave rats. Sure you’ve _tried_ to kill me in that past, but you’re not now?”

“I’ve never tried to kill you Snow. I mean, only once.”

“You've never tried to kill me? But what about the Chimera, or the stairs?"

"Childish bullying, and an accident."

"When then, if not those two times?”

**_Baz_ **

I must be drunk on the pheromones of Simon Snow because I can’t believe I’m about to confess this. (Well it’s not my biggest confession. I’m not about to tell him I’d like to lick the sweat from his chin. Or that being near him makes my heart explode like a firework). 

And while that’s just teenage hormones and _love_ talking, what I’m about to reveal is disgusting in an entirely different sense of the word. 

It's all for the best I suppose. People (not people, _creatures_ ) like me don’t get to be happy. 

“Do you remember that time in fifth year? When...when Philippa’s voice ran out?”

Simon says nothing. I can see him staring at me intently out of the corner of my eyes. I look ahead. 

“That was the first and last time I ever tried to hurt you. Permanently. In any way that mattered.”

“Is it because of what happened to Philippa?”

I cross my arms and clutch my elbows, rubbing circles around them. 

“I didn’t know,” I say. “What was going to happen. I just needed...space.” (From you. From everything you made me feel and be) 

I brace myself to be berated. For Snow to say all the things I’ve always known he’s thought to be true about me: that I’m evil. A bastard. A monster. A waste of magic, void of humility, and incapable of sympathy. 

“Would you have still done it?” Simon asks and I turn to him because it’s not what I’m expecting. His blue eyes meet mine and they’re fierce. “If you’d known, I mean. Would you still have done it?”

I turn away. “Maybe. I don’t know....”

“No,” I say. 

“Then you’re not the antichrist.”

“But it’s my fault what happened to Phillipa. I can’t take that back.” 

“Well.. yeah. But… I’m starting to think intention matters.” Simon says. “I never want to...to...well...ya know. _Go off._ I try and try and sometimes I can’t stop it. _”_

“That’s different,” I say. “You _can’t_ help that. I could have stopped this. I could have…”

Simon reaches out to me and places his hand on my shoulder. Giving it a soft squeeze. I feel my fin turning to jelly. 

“We’ve been over this.” He says, firmly, “I don’t believe you’re a bad person. I mean...I used to. I used to when I thought you meant to kill me. But things are different now.” I don’t know why he sounds so desperate for me to believe it. 

**_Simon_ **

Baz seems to hesitate, before turning to me, self consciously crossing his arms across his chest again, pitch black hairs peeking out against his pale gray skin. “Well, why are you here?” He asks, avoiding my eyes. “Surely you didn’t _miss_ me.” 

I’m thrown off by the sudden change of topic and my words catch in my throat. _Why_ **_am_ ** _I here?_ In the middle of the night, with no way to go back to our room, singing songs and sharing confessions with _Baz_ instead of trying to make things right with Agatha. Why does it matter why I’m here?” I say stupidly, “I can leave if you want.” 

Baz’s eyes shoot to mine, he looks panicked (does he _want_ me to stay?) “What have you and Bunce found in the library? Any news?” 

I feel relief washing over me. I hadn’t wanted to leave. 

That’s new. 

I sit on the bank nearest Baz, and he slides off the rock and wades at my feet. “Not much,” I say. “We’ve combed through a few books on fairy tales and curses, but so far there’s been nothing indicating how something like this happens. Penny’s going to ask her mum over the weekend—don’t worry no specifics.” I say as he opens his mouth to protest. “We’re experts at investigating potentially dangerous information without letting anyone on.”

Baz nods, seeming satisfied. There’s a sudden gust of cool wind, and he shivers. I don’t know why he doesn’t just cast a warming spell like he’d been doing in the ensuite. Perhaps it’s too much trouble to heat the whole pond? 

I shrug off Agatha Watford Lacrosse hoodie and hold it out to him. He looks at me like I’ve just offered him a bong. 

“Take it.” I say, and it reminds me of that first night. With the scones. 

**_Baz_ **

I don’t know how to be nice to Snow. Though I’ve certainly let my guard down one too many times this evening. 

There’s something about being isolated in this form that makes me crave him like I’ve never craved anything before. Not even blood. 

So I climb out of the pond and sit like I would if I still had legs, hanging my fin off the bank and kicking the water softly back and forth (which I think is and involuntary side effect of having this fishtail). Snow joins me, rolling up his trousers and taking off his socks before dipping his feet in. I take the hoodie. When I go to put it on I realize that although it smells like Simon, it’s got Welbelove written all over it (literally, it’s marked with her name in big bold lettering on the back, as well as the number 11). It’s cozy and it makes me feel like Simon's bloody mistress. 

“Are you sure you want me to wear this?” I say. It’s kinder than I intended, but I don’t want him to leave. (I never do).

Simon shrugs. “Not sure it matters much anymore.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, trying not to sound too curious as I feel my heart skip a beat and my face heating up. I don't want to entertain the delusion that the two love birds have finally broken up. I go to bury my face in his scent, hiding my blush behind the billowing shoulders of the pullover. 

**_Simon_ **

“I think me and Aggie are going to break up.” I blurt out. I hadn’t realized it’s what I’ve been thinking. But now that I say it, it sounds like the truth. “I think she’s in love with you.”

Baz rolls his eyes, “Hardly.” He says. “Welbelove doesn’t really want to date me.”

“But you want to date her?”

“I don’t.”

“Then why do you flirt with her?”

Baz lets out an exasperated sigh. He closes his eyes and seems to decide something, opening them before looking at me and they’re like ice. “Look, Snow, I’ve never been an option for Wellbelove...I’m…. I’m not interested in her. I’m not interested in _any woman_. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“What do you mean you’re not interested in her? You’ve been flirting with her for years.” 

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” He says with intention in his voice. 

I’m about to say something snarky back when the reality of what he’s implying sinks it. “You’re...gay?” I say as I feel my heart beating faster. 

Merlin, I’m not homophobic, am I? 

I stare at Baz. He looks vulnerable, eyes peeking out at me like that gray baby seal, and I realize it’s not that. It’s not weird. It’s just… it makes me feel. It makes me feel...

I … I don’t know what it makes me feel. 

“You’re really gay?” I ask again, gentler this time. 

Baz’s face is stone. “I don’t need your pity Snow. I’m perfectly fine with it.” 

“No— it’s not that. I’m glad… I mean, I mean that’s not what I mean— Christ Baz why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why should I have told you? Besides it’s not like I hide it or anything. You’re just not very observant.

“But.. you… kept flirting with Agatha.”

“I only ever did it to piss you off...I was,” He grits his teeth, and shuts his eyes again, “Jealous.”

“What are you saying? Jealous of what? My relationship with Agatha?”

Baz still hasn’t said anything, when I look at him he looks pained. 

“Fine.” He says through gritted teeth, “Yes. Yes all that. It doesn’t matter anymore now though, alright? I won’t stand in the way of your fairytale ending anymore.”

**_Baz_ **

I feel my walls coming back up. I let myself want too much tonight. I let myself share too much tonight. 

Simon Snow is never going to love me back. No matter how soft he’s been with me this last week. 

“How long have you known?”

“Known what?”

“That you’re gay.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I’m just curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat Snow.” 

He flinches. (Perhaps that could be my eighth year spell, good only to lure cats to a thirsty vampire, and for scaring Simon Snow when he asks too many questions) “Fine. I do care.” I open my mouth to say something snide, “Not about you being gay you wanker. About you. I care about you.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Simon Snow says he cares. About me. 

Aleister Crowley, I must have drowned in this godforsaken pond and gone to heaven. (I didn’t think vampires could get into heaven). 

“I’ve known since...well since before I can remember.”

“How did you know?” He asks. Simon Snow is ruthless when it comes to asking questions. He just charges forward like he does into battle.

I look at him, its dark and I know Snow can’t see me half as well as I can see him. So I let myself look at him. In a way, I’ve never allowed myself to look at him before. 

“I just knew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's to another chapter! Stay safe and keep love in your hearts <3 There's about 2-3 more left. I'll try and write faster, but I'm a student and work full time. T_T I'm excited for you to read the next chapter. I wanted to write some of Baz's backstory with coming out and first realizing he loves Simon. 
> 
> Let me know what you think so far. I'm a little nervous as to whether or not anyone is actually enjoying reading this. 
> 
> As always, apologies for typos, etc. No beta T-T


	5. Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Long AF again. Enjoy. 
> 
> Also yaaaa I figured out how to add cute sparkles as page breaks. ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⚘ 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 ⚘˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ don't it just make you feel all bubbly inside???
> 
> Forgive typos as always, no beta. Also not British. LOLZ.

##  **Part Five**

**_Baz_ **

“I just knew.”

_I knew when I met you._

Well, it wasn’t love at first sight or anything, but it was a feeling that followed me until I was old enough to put a name to it. 

(I guess it was love at first sight then, Crowley I’m such a sap). 

When you realize you’re different from everyone else, the first step is admitting it to yourself. 

I’d listen to Dev and Nial talk about how attractive girls like Wellbelove and Adegboyega were, and I wondered why I couldn’t see them in that way. And I tried. I really did. They were both objectively pretty, what with Wellbelove’s golden rays of wispy hair shining down her back, and Adegboyega’s deep cloud of moonlight black curls framing the galaxy in her deep dark eyes — both would make any boy’s heart race. 

But not mine. I’m a vampire. I assumed I just didn’t have the capacity to _feel_ those things. About anyone. 

Then Simon Snow walked into the room. I didn’t know at first what I was feeling. Just that I couldn’t take my eyes off him: all of him. I guess that was the same for everyone. He was the Mage’s Heir, _the Chosen One_ , after all. No one could stop watching Simon. It was only natural that I’d want to watch him too. 

He was a scruffy-looking little boy with a clean-shaven head and eyes so ordinarily blue they looked like two gumballs trying to pop out of his sockets. He had moles dotted all across his skin, and I started to count them. Before long I’d memorized how many there were and where they lay as destinations mapped along his skin. 

When he held out his hand to me after the Crucible drew us together, I told myself it was the reason my eyes couldn’t leave him. I resisted the pull for as long as possible. I thought we must look like quite the pair standing next to each other. Simon’s skin so filled with blood and life, while mine looked so _parched_ and _lifeless_. When I finally took his hand, Simon immediately relaxed, every muscle in his body falling back into place like a limp rubber band. I, on the other hand, had never felt more wound tight. 

This _boy_ will be the death of me. 

Naturally, I was expected to antagonize Snow. And I did. 

But one year he came back to Watford. And he’d grown. Not up, but out— he stopped looking like a too skinny little boy filling up a space he didn’t know how to fit in. He stood taller, even though he’d always been shorter than me, and _stood up_ to all the darkness the Humdrum sent to Watford. He’d wave his sword like the knight he now was, cloaked in hot white light, a champion for the destitute, a real-life Chosen One. 

He was amazing. (He’ll always _be_ amazing).

I’d stare at him and think about him charging at me with his sword, pinning me to the wall. 

He’d hit me then. 

Stab me. 

Kill me. 

Snog me until I’d forgotten how to breathe. 

Simon Snow wasn’t the only boy I had ever had a... _reaction_ to. But he was the only one that stuck. The only one I couldn’t chalk up to teenage hormones ( because I think I loved him long before I started longing for him). 

My parents, but especially my father, don’t talk about the fact that I’m gay. The day I came out, my father, Daphne, and Fiona were all sitting in the study. It was rare, even at that point, to have the whole family together in one room (Fiona doesn't even come down for meals). My heart hammered in my chest as I worked myself up just so I could calmly, stoically, say those three little words: like it wasn't the single biggest revelation of my life, like my family's reaction to those words didn’t have the potential to break me. For all the ways I imagined coming out, the reality was... anticlimactic. My father said nothing. Just cleared his throat and stood, as if he’d been meaning to, and left the room. The silence that followed made everything else in the room sound too loud: Daphne pouring herself another cup of tea and Fiona claping me on the back. Fiona pulled out a flask from her leather jacket pocket, then put a splash into the tea before handing it to me. Daphne didn’t even blink at that. 

We never spoke of it again. 

I know Fiona could give a rats ass which sex I’m attracted to (fuck the system and whoever you want, as she often says), and Daphne is always lovely, but measured. She doesn’t like to make a scene, especially not around my father. And, unlike my father, I don’t think she cares about the Pitch family name dying with me (and why would she, I’m the son of her husband’s first wife), yet she still treats me like she does the rest of the children: like _her son._

My father, however, treats my queerness like he does my vampirism: with denial, with shame. I’ve long learned the strategic importance of feigned indifference. It’s what makes us Pitchs such formidable opponents in the Worlds of Mages and the most impenetrable amongst the Old Families. You can never tell what we’re really thinking, what _really matters_ to us. Only those with insider knowledge can. To the families, I am Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, the oldest son and heir to the Pitch empire, a child prodigy and pride and joy of the Pitch-Grimm estate. To my father I am the former of those things...and a stain on the family name. 

Long ago I learned what being a Pitch really means: it isn’t just about the magic, the fire, the sense of pride in the legacy. It means the things you keep locked inside feel less real. The tighter the lock, the more powerful you become. The more control you have. 

  
  
  
  


So I told no one — not Dev or Nial, and especially not Aunt Fiona — about my budding feelings for Simon. 

At the start of fifth year, I came back to Watford only to find out that Simon had started dating Agatha. I didn’t like it, but I told myself it was just because I didn’t _really like Snow_. What I _did_ like though was riling Simon up, so I began flirting with Wellbelove incessantly. I'd watch Simon as I let the anger in his eyes set me ablaze, and perhaps I could even pretend that the heat I felt was born of hatred instead of love. 

Once, I really had pushed Simon a little too far, and he went off, in the physical sense of the word. His magic was leaking, but he came at me in a flash and pushed me up against a wall outside a classroom. I could taste his breath against mine—hot, heavy, just a hint sour—and I heard the sound of his blood drumming through his veins like the sounds of war. I could have spun him around and sunk my teeth into his jugular, closing the chapter in the Pitch-Snow feud once and for all. I felt something in me stir. 

But it wasn’t blood lust. 

Just lust.

And thus began the Summer of Endless Wanking. I’d let myself indulge, and feel, and _admit_ to it. I told myself it was okay. To _feel._ Just until he was out of my system. 

It didn’t take long to realize how fucked I truly was. 

(And not in the fun way.)

  
˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⚘ 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 ⚘˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

**_Baz_ **

I don’t tell Simon all that, of course. 

Most especially not that last part.

˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⚘ 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 ⚘˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

**_Baz_ **

Snow says nothing after my vague declaration. Just stares off into space looking thoughtful for once. 

It’s concerning. 

I clear my throat. “Just don’t tell Wellbelove. My inability to reciprocate romantic feelings for her need not factor into your renewed affections for one another...” 

Simon’s head snaps back to mine, mouth already hanging open. “You think I would out you? Christ Baz I’m not going to tell anyone about this. It's not my business who you fancy.”

“This coming from the boy who’s made it his _business_ to expose me as a vampire.” I glare at him, “ _For years._ ”

“This is _different_ ,” I raise my eyebrow at him and give him a look I hope explains that it isn’t. Either way I still might be eviscerated: much like God (and the Mage) homophobia works in mysterious ways. “Being gay doesn’t mean you’d hurt anybody,” he goes on to explain. “And now that I know that being a vampire doesn’t necessarily mean you will either. I won’t tell. Promise. I’ll even swear it with magic.”

I wave him off, “No need for that Snow. It would be a waste. We never swore on anything for our current arrangement and it seems to have turned out just fine.”

He grins and I can't help but shyly smile back. 

“Besides,” He says, kicking his feet back and forth in the water, “I can’t stop anyone from fancying who they do…not you, not Aggie...”

“That’s surprisingly mature of you Snow.”

“Oh sod off.” 

I laugh out loud. Snow starts chuckling with me. I’m still smiling when he asks: 

“So how long have you been a vampire?”

**_Simon_ **

Baz’s face falls at that. 

“Since I was five.” 

“ _Five_?” I exclaim. “Merlin Baz, you were only a child.”

He laughs, another bitter, “haha” and I decide I don’t like it as much as his easy laugh. “The vampires didn’t seem to care.” 

“Was that the same night the Humdrum sent them here? And your mum…”

“Was killed? Yes.” 

“Nicks and slicks.” 

He tugs Agatha’s hoodie tighter against his body, like he’s trying to wrap himself into a cocoon. 

I won’t stand for it. I like this Baz. 

Honest. 

Open. 

Right where I can _see_ him. 

“I don’t remember my parents.” I say, “In fact, I don’t remember much of anything from my childhood. It’s like life got started for me when the Mage found me and brought me to Watford. I may have lived a _Normal_ childhood, but I don’t remember being normal at all.”

**_Baz_ **

“I don’t remember being normal either,” I find myself saying. Snow turns to me expectantly, and I sigh. “It’s why being what I am can feel so...disorienting. I’m… always… _hungry.”_ I steal a glance at Snow and he doesn’t even flinch at that. My eyes travel down to his neck and he shivers. I look away and grimace. “And people always look like food when I’m hungry, so I try not to get too close to them. I thought I’d been saddled with the absolute worst luck… maybe some curse for being gay or not being able to do anything when my mother died. For _living_ ” I spit the word as if it’s poison, “when she didn’t, and now I’ve got this abominable fishtail on top of everything else. At this rate, it’s only a matter of time before I’m kicked out of Watford and forced to join the bloody _Cirque du Soleil_.” 

“Baz you know I can’t speak French, but it doesn’t make anything that you're saying sound any less ridiculous.” I make a hmmp sound, and Snow scowls at me. “Of course this isn’t your fault, and we’re going to figure it all out. Penny’s going home to do just that! And I won’t let anyone take you anywhere that isn’t here. You belong here...at Watford I mean.” 

I try not to think too hard about that. About getting even more attached to Snow and Bunce. About learning to rely on them. About feeling like I’m a part of something, instead of a part from everything. 

“Or I do belong in the _circus of suns,_ in cold as all fuck _Canada.”_

“ _You join a Canadian circus?_ ” Snow laughs before looking at me thoughtfully, “Actually, it’d be amazing if you did. You're so bloody graceful on the pitch, I’d love to watch you walk the tightrope. It’d be like watching you do magic.” 

I look at Snow like I’ve just seen him for the first time and his eyes are shining, little black orbs twinkling like stars in the sky, and I feel myself blushing ( _again_ ). I think not for the first time that there’s a reason Simon is so popular at Watford. He’s kind, and genuine, even though he doesn’t always find the right words to express himself (except when he does, and it sets fire to my cheeks and damns my soul even deeper into the depths of hell). Sure his magic, and the overwhelming amount he has, provides him with a sort of natural charisma. But I don’t think anyone would stay around if his personality was insufferable. _I,_ for one, don’t have many friends — even Dev and Nial are more like acquaintances than true mates. It’s like that with all the children of the Old Families. There are pretenses to uphold. Masks to wear. Roles to play. Alliances to forge. Lines not to cross. 

Simon Snow couldn’t wear a mask if he tried, and he’s been crossing all of the lines I’ve been drawing between us for years. 

I don’t know what to say in response (he’s burning fire into my cheeks like a cigarette bud from the inside out), so naturally I say something needlessly cruel to throw Snow off my scent: “The circus is basically indentured servitude for freaks,” I snap at him. “Haven't you seen American Horror Story?” 

“Is that the ghost show that’s basically pornography?” 

I snort, “If you think that’s pornographic, then you clearly haven’t seen pornography.”

It’s too dark to tell if Simon is blushing or not, but he squirms in place a bit. My vampiric night vision doesn’t keep the colors, just amplifies the light that is available so I can see his lines better. I can hear his heart beating erratically in his chest. “Well it’s not like it’s prime viewing in the homes...” 

I’d kick myself if I still had my legs. 

“Tell me a good memory you have of care.” I say, gently, crossing my arms and a few lines of my own. “There must be some.”

“The Mage comes to get me on my birthday, and he takes me on a mission.” Simon says. I hold back a scoff. Sounds like the Mage. The revolution, after all, waits for no one, least of all his charge’s birthday. 

“There’s no cake or any festivities,” Simon continues, “but it’s a reminder that it’s all real. That I didn’t imagine…” he gestures at the scene in front of us, “all this. It’s like… have you seen that episode of _Buffy_ where she’s in a mental institution and it turns out she just dreamed up the whole chosen one slayer thing, it's like the last four seasons were all in her head? The family she made for herself, none of that was real? It’s like that sometimes at care.” He turns quiet, and we sit like that for a minute or two. His words sink into me like feet into quicksand: I didn’t think my heart could sink any further for him. 

“But sometimes I think,” he continues, “It might be nice if some of it _was_ make believe. Imagine a world without the Humdrum, a world without all the wars.”

A world where maybe Simon Snow and I could be friends. A world where maybe we could be more. 

I want it. Badly. I want him. 

But I don’t have the vision for it. 

So I don’t say anything. 

“You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you Baz? You have seen _Buffy_ yeah? Or is it not posh enough for you?” 

I roll my eyes: “I’ve seen _Buffy_ , Snow.” It was part of my early vampire education. When I couldn’t find answers in the books at home, I turned to pop culture. I didn’t find many there: just some reassurance that I didn’t have to be completely evil (thanks to Angel), but that it didn’t make me any less damned. The literary value of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ is iconic: the feminist parable, the queer text and subtext, the mythology, Shakespearean references, the linguistics. I tell Snow so. Snow says Penny thinks so too, however, one of her only criticisms is that the show is “too white.” 

And that’s when Simon decides to play a mostly one-sided game of twenty questions with me. He wants to know what my favorite episodes of _Buffy_ are to start and if I find it hard to watch all the vampires getting staked into dust every season. ( _Once More with Feeling,_ to answer his first question, because I’m a sucker for musical theatre, and to his second: my Aunt is a _literal_ vampire slayer, and my loyalties lie with the World of Mages, so I don’t feel anything) (I’m lying a bit, I do get a strange shiver sometimes and try not to think about that happening to me some day). My disdain for Buffy’s little sister Dawn prompts Snow to comment that he’d always wanted siblings. That’s when I tell him I have four. He wants to know their names and ages and how close I am to each. I tell him about Mordelia and how she’s a nightmare, just like Snow; I tell him about the twins: Morelia and Mortica who get into more things than a pair of baby goblins, and finally, I tell him about the newest addition to the family, little Morweena who only seems to have mastered the art of looking perpetually unbothered. Snow chuckles at their names, especially Morweena’s since, as he says, the name is fitting for an “itsy- _weeny-lil_ baby.” ( _Excellent wordplay Snow_ , I smile at him. _You could write for Dr. Seuss_ ) (He doesn’t know who Dr. Suess is, and I feel bad for being another reminder that he didn’t have a proper childhood). 

Snow asks me questions all night, the more tired I get the more candidly I reply. Though nothing can prepare me for the question he asks next:

“Do you have a boyfriend?” I start choking violently on air. We’ve since laid back against the grass and I spelled Wellbelove’s hoodie bigger with a “ **grew three sizes that day** ” so that Snow won’t get mud stains on his uniform, and we’re laying side by side looking at the stars. I feel myself freeze and Snow continues, unperturbed by my coughing fit. “I mean I’d hope not. Pretty messed up to flirt with another bloke's girlfriend while you’re dating another bloke yourself.” 

“I don’t have a boyfriend Snow.” 

“Why not?” He yawns and rolls over to face me. I stay staring at the sky. “I’d think you’d have boys lining up the block to date you.” 

“Excuse me?” I turn to look at him, like he’s gone mad. Perhaps I have. Perhaps the Druids have cast a spell on me and I’ve been hallucinating this whole conversation. Snow's eyes are closed and his mouth is hanging open. I think about closing it with my own. If I wasn’t so desperate to believe this is real life, I would. 

Simon shrugs against the jumper (which ends up looking closer to _nesting_ at this stage). His eyes are half-lidded like he can’t bear to keep them open a minute longer. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I watch them close completely as he lets out another yawn.“You’re tall and fit, and a brilliant mage. ‘S doesn’t make sense that you haven’t got a boyfriend….” 

“Can you even hear yourself speak?” 

“I’m,” He yawns again. “Just saying….”

“Well don’t.” I say, ice in my voice, I don’t like where this conversation is going. Not one bit. 

Simon says nothing, and he’s quiet for a long time before I hear his breathing change from labored to lulled, the telltale sign that he’s fallen asleep. I turn to my side so I can stare at him. He’s like a Chosen One shaped constellation against the backdrop of the forest and the night sky: looming. How am I to tell him I’ve never had a boyfriend because I can’t imagine someone else every taking up as much space in my life as he does? (I can’t obviously, and I won’t.)

But I’m sleep drunk, and feeling sentimental tonight, so I do. I whisper it. I speak it with a different kind of magic. It’s an oath, a promise, a declaration of love. 

Snow's stomach rumbles in response, and he rubs it in his sleep. Crowley _, I suppose being the Chosen One does work up the appetite._ I cast **this will tide you over** on him so that he won’t wake up in the middle of the night hungry. I’ve no sense of the time, and am not wearing a watch ( _I’m not wearing anything_ , except for Wellbelove’s hoodie, but even that is more of a blanket than clothes at this point), but it feels late, and I imagine it’s going to be hell for Simon to wake up tomorrow, and I wouldn’t want him to miss breakfast if he’s already starved so I take my wand out again and point it at him. “ **Sleep tight** ” I cast and watch the furrow in his brow relax. 

I shouldn’t cast so many spells this late at night. I’ve already cast plenty throughout the day just to make the pond feel a bit more homey (and warmer). For this last spell I put every bit of intention I can muster behind it. It isn’t hard. I mean what I say: “ **Stay safe** ,” I cast, a simple, but effective, protection spell. Simon is sleeping in the Wavering Woods, after all, and I can’t guarantee that I can protect him all night. That the sprites won’t try and take him from me while we sleep. 

I find myself drifting out of consciousness in the warmth of Simon Snow, and I sleep better with him lying next to me than I have in weeks. 

**_Simon_ **

I wake up the next morning at the crack of dawn feeling strangely well-rested. There’s a faint feeling like heat rub tingling hot and spicy across my skin, and it feels pleasant in the cool air rife with the humidity of morning dew. It’s only when I start to open my eyes and I’m greeted by looming willow trees instead of the familiar stone of the turret ceiling, that I shoot up, fully awake, and call the Sword of Mages to my hand. 

I can’t believe I let myself fall asleep in the Wavering Wood. I can’t believe I’m still alive. Unless this is some illusion. (That one sprite who carries around that strange parasol never seemed to like me, so if I have been spirited away I hope Baz and Penny know to go after her. Well after they figure out the Merman thing...)

I look for Baz, and find him nestled against the bank. He’s got the ends of Agatha’s hoodie bundled up into a makeshift pillow that he’s draped himself over. The lower half of his body is floating in the pond. He mustn’t have been able to stay out of the water for long. I watch him sleep, his body bobbing up and down like a buoy, he’s still glowing, scales and skin shimmering, and little puffs of cool air escape his open mouth. His black hair is in his face, and before I can think to stop myself I’ve already reached out and brushed it aside and behind his ear. His hair is so soft, like petting one of the Hello Kitty plushies Agatha decorates her bed with. I let my hand linger behind his ear and gently massage his scalp. He lets out a contented little hum in his sleep. It makes me smile. 

_And_ he feels solid. Good. This is real. 

I should stop touching him. But I don’t want to stop touching him. 

I don’t want what happened last night — this tentative and fragile thing I’ve built with Baz, to end. Full stop. 

Oh...

Oh...fuck.

Oh I am _so_ fucked.

**_Penny_ **

Simon walks into the dining hall about ten minutes after I do. He looked like a disaster this morning. Panting and hunched over outside the Cloisters when Agatha and I came down for breakfast. My heart jumped out of my chest when I saw him -- I thought the worst had finally happened when he didn’t show up for dinner last night, (the war was finally on, the Humdrum had finally attacked Watford, that Basil had been faking this whole time and had somehow lured him out to the woods before dinner and attempted to throttle him). 

Agatha had told me I shouldn’t worry. That he’d probably just fallen asleep. "Not everything is an emergency." She said. 

I let myself believe it. He had missed three lessons because of a nap a few weeks back. _Not everything needs to be an emergency._

But when I saw Simon he had leaves matted into his already matted hair, and his face was imprinted with some sort of zigzaggy pattern, as if he’s fallen asleep on something jagged. He didn’t seem tired though….just sweaty, and anxious. I could feel his magic the closer we got to him, like the way it feels when you walk into a fire. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he’d been in the woods again. Perhaps keeping an eye on Baz. Perhaps fighting him.

“Stevie Nicks -- what in Merlin’s name happened to you Simon? Did Basil do something to you?” 

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. I mean I...uh I’ll explain later. But” He clears his throat and sucks in a breath before sticking out his chin. “….Agatha. Can we ...talk?”

I let them be. I know when Simon gets like that there’s no changing his mind. That’s his face of resolve. 

I watch Simon now as he fills up his tray and then goes to take a seat across from me. Agatha comes in a few minutes later and heads for the buffet line. She grabs a plain yogurt and some granola, and a cup of tea (she likes her breakfast tea exceeding bland and so steeps it for hardly a minute), and then makes her way to sit alone on the other side of the dining hall, as far away from me and Simon as possible. 

“Oh Merlin — did you have another spat?”

Simon gulps down the rest of his milk before speaking. 

“We broke up.”

**_Simon_ **

My heart is still racing. I did it. 

I did it. 

I broke up with Agatha. 

I mean. I couldn’t keep dating her. 

Not after last night. Not after I looked at Baz this time, and finally answered the question. 

Agatha seemed relieved, honestly. Like she’d been saving the words up herself, like she was thankful she didn’t have to spend them all explaining in the end. 

Agatha suggested we have some space. To make it really feel like the end, that is. 

I take my hands and run them through my curls, getting my hand caught on a twig along the way I need a bloody shower. 

A cold one. 

˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⚘ 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 ⚘˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

**_Simon_ **

Since it’s Saturday, Penny’s mum is picking her up shortly after breakfast so she can go home for the weekend. Before leaving she interrogates me with her usual relentlessness: she wants to know where I was last night and why I chose now to break up with Agatha. ( _It’s not that I don’t support your decisions Simon, but it does seem a bit sudden_ ). I managed to lie and tell her I got called away for a training session in the Woods with the Mage, and was so tired I missed dinner. I just shrug about the Agatha thing. Penny looks at me skeptically but doesn’t press any further. I don’t like lying to Penny. Well...it’s not _lying_ if I’m planning to tell her the truth. _Eventually_. 

I was acting on instinct this morning when I bolted out of the Wavering Woods. At first, I thought I was running because I wanted to get away. I didn't even wake Baz. Just untangled my hand from his hair and left. I didn’t realize what it was I wanted to get away from until I saw Agatha. 

I don’t lie to Penny. I don’t keep secrets. But I can’t tell her about Baz. Not yet. It doesn’t feel fair to him. If she knows before I can tell him ( _Do I even want to tell him?)_. Penny is a great friend but she can be logical to a fault, and I’ll know she’ll want me to explain myself.   
  


And I can’t make what I’m feeling for Baz make any logical sense. Feelings aren’t like that. They just are. 

All I know is that when I looked down at Baz this morning, sleeping soundly, it unlocked a list I’d made in my head years ago. A list I titled:

**_Things I Want to Do to Baz._ **

  1. Mess up Baz’s hair. It looks stiff as a corpse when he slicks it back. I bet I could get him to loosen up. 
  2. Wipe the sneer off his lips. He looks like a wild dog. I’d like to slip a leash on him when he sneers, just to keep him in line. 
  3. Speaking of dogs, I want to see his fangs. And maybe touch them. If he promises not to bite. 
  4. Pull his nose down a place or two, and really get my hands on him. All over him. 
  5. Get inside his head, figure him out. What’s he plotting? How does he like his eggs in the morning? _When does he even eat his eggs_? 
  6. See him smile, _really smile_ , for once.
  7. Be the reason he smiles.
  8. Feel that smile against my lips. 
  9. Lie with my head across his chest so I can try and hear his heartbeat. Do vampires have heartbeats? 
  10. Play with the hairs on his chest. I wonder if they’re as soft as the ones on his head?



That last one is new, considering recent events. 

I've since gone back to Mummers to shower and I have a full day in front of me. But there's only one place I want to be. 

So I start running. I still have so many questions for him. 

Why was he so jealous of me and Agatha that he’d try and break us up?

Why did he pick the violin as his first instrument? Does he play any others? (Would he play me a song if I brought his violin down to the pond?) 

Now that it seems like we’re not planning to kill each other, ike we could be friends (maybe even more)— does he want to help me fight the Humdrum when this is all over? I think we’d make a good team. I think maybe we could convince the Old Families and the Mage that it's better to be on the same side, for once. Perhaps we could swear it with magic. 

And so much more. 

I’m running back over the drawbridge and into the woods as fast as my feet can carry me. The exhilaration of wind roaring against my ears matches with the nerves orchestrating the symphony in my heart. 

There’s always that moment — I feel it before a big battle— where you know there’s no turning back. There’s a change when you're in the middle of it, and no matter how scared or how many doubts you have you know you can’t turn around. The path you thought you were supposed to take gets erased (at one point literally, when I was fighting an illusion demon the Humdrum sent in fourth year) and the only way forward is to go… well forward. 

Today feels like one of those days.

˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⚘ 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 ⚘˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

**_Simon_ **

When I get there I’m out of breath (again, I really need to lay off the butter) and I see Baz. I can tell immediately something is wrong. He looks sullen and horrified. 

“Baz?” I gasp as I approach him.

He whirls around. There’s a panic in his normally calm gray eyes, it looks instead like I’m staring into the abyss of a stormy sea. 

“What is it?” I ask, drawing the Sword of Mages. “Did something attack you?” 

He shakes his head. 

“Well out with it will you, I can’t deal with it," I swing my sword a bit so he understands my meaning, "If I don’t even know what it is.” 

Baz looks me in the eyes, and I can tell he’s scared. He opens his mouth to speak. 

Not a sound comes out. 

Not even a gasp. 

“Baz?” I ask softly. 

He opens his mouth again, still no sound. He starts trashing in the water, and motions to scream, it’s like watching a scene in unfinished stop motion: disjointed, stiff, spotty, too quiet for comfort. The sounds of the slashing water, the wind rustling the trees, _everything_ feels amplified against the silence. 

My heart pounds in my chest. “Did someone find you and cast c **at got your tongue**?” 

He shakes his head violently, and the droplets splatter across my chest. I catch his eyes and see that they're flooding, tears cling gainst the rims of his lashes like rain on a windowsill.

“Baz?” My voice cracks.

  
I’m crying too. 

**_Penny_ **

I’m combing through my dad’s library looking for books on curses. There was something in the Watford Library, on fairy tale curses. But all it had was spells developed from Disney movies. I skipped to the section with spells from _The Little Mermaid,_ and " **p** **oor unfortunate soul** ," a lyric from the transformation scene seems to only be good for causing someone financial misfortune (if cast literally). I wonder if it could transform a person if cast metaphorically? But it’s not specific enough to physical transformations. Plus in the movie, it wasn’t that phrase that made Ariel into a human. She had to give up her voice to gain her feet. Whatever’s happened to Baz must be different. It didn’t take effect immediately, and other than the addition of a sparkly green fin and some glitter, he didn’t seem like he had lost anything else. 

Yet. There’s still my premonition. 

So I’m looking for books, old ones, on darker magic. The tarot cards playing stuck in my head like a song I wish I could forget: Siren, Reflection, Death. 

“Penelope.” I hear my mother's voice call up the stairs at the same time that I hear a stack of books topple over in the corner. “Telephone. It’s Simon.”

I shuffle around the maze of book stacks, and head down the stairs in a whirl. Simon only calls me if there's something urgent (for Stevie's sack, when will we ever catch a break?) I pick up the phone and here Simon’s labored breathing. Despite all the panting he's been doing recently, he’s actually quite in good shape — even with all the butter — my heart skips, "What happened?" I whisper into the phone. I can feel my mum's eyes prying around the corner. She doesn't like that me being friends with Simon means I'm usually in some sort of trouble. 

"It's Baz." He says, and I feel myself relaxing. Simon's always going on about Baz and it's usually not a big deal. Usually...

"What did he--" Simon cuts me off. 

"His voice is gone. Penny. It's gone and I think he's going mad. When can you come back?"

I keep my voice calm as I reply, my mum coming into the room to grab the cup of tea she'd "absentmindedly" left next to the receiver. 

"The earliest I can get back would be tomorrow morning. I'll gather as many books as I can for our _project_ and then we can finish it up first thing in the morning." 

I avoid eye contact with my mum. I was supposed to have lunch with her tomorrow. I had an evening date planned with Micah over Skype. I suppose it’ll have to wait. There’s no time to send him a message, not with all the research I still need to do. 

I’m sure he’ll understand. 

"Simon?" I say when my mum has gotten out of earshot. "It's going to be okay."

Simon's voice is so quiet I barely hear it. "But he's not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE PLOT THICCCCENS~!
> 
> Anyways, I hope I handled some of Baz's backstory well. I feel like Baz's father does love him -- like at the end of Carry On both Fiona and Malcolm seem so proud of him for finishing out school. It just seems like the family is too conservative and shit overall at processing their feeling and communicating, which is why I thought it would hurt Baz even more if, when in a moment of vulnerability, he opens up about something deeply personal to him (his sexuality) and is met with silence, which he then internalizes as rejection, and thus further degrading his self-worth. I know irl coming out can be so much worst for ppl, but I think everyone's experience is unique. This should go without saying, but we all deserve to be loved and respected and I hope that for anyone who has struggled with these sorts of feelings that you know that you are loved and that you are enough, just as you are. 
> 
> Anyways, back to analysis: For Baz, the lack of communication in his family is why I think he can't really figure out how to communicate with Simon in Wayward Son and where a lot of his self-loathing comes from. Anyways this is Baz's POV and remembers sometimes narrators are unreliable *insert Simon-style shrug*
> 
> Let me know what you think! I hope the middle cuteness made up for the angst sandwich. Have a lovely day wherever in the world that you are, keep love in your hearts, and stay safe.
> 
> Next chapter is on its way, probably in a week or so. As much I'm loving writing this, I need to school.

**Author's Note:**

> So what did you think? Why do you think this is happening to Baz? 
> 
> It took me a while to get the right feel of the characters, but I think I found their voices a bit more towards the end. I haven't written a long AF story in a long while so this was fun! I hope you enjoyed it, I have many more ideas planned for this and I'm excited to share them! I'm also antsy to get this posted so sorry I don't have anything else more interesting to say. ><''
> 
> If you see any typos or inconsistencies please let me know! I don't have a beta. heh~
> 
> Thanks!


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